


Why James Hawkins Should Never Be Left to His Own Devices

by IFuckingLoveBees



Category: Treasure Planet (2002)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Age Difference, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Human/modern/earth AU, I don't know how boats or dirt bikes work I'm sorry, Jim Hawkins has daddy issues, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Internalized Homophobia, My characterization of Scroop is one note and that note is Creepy Bastard, Pining, Praise Kink, Pseudo slow burn?, Recreational Drug Use, Shower Sex, Size Difference, Smoking, Technically no underage but still potentially triggering, This is just kinky in general actually, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Touch-Starved, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:20:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 103,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29301033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IFuckingLoveBees/pseuds/IFuckingLoveBees
Summary: It starts, as a lot of things in Jim’s life, with his father leaving, but of course the momentum doesn’t stop there.Breaking onto a boat in the middle of the night is just the latest in a string of new lows for Jim, and that bar drops even lower when he gets caught. On his parole officer’s last straw, and with his mother losing faith, Jim grudgingly takes a mentorship under the guy he got caught stealing from.
Relationships: Jim Hawkins/John Silver
Comments: 30
Kudos: 68





	1. Consequences

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here we are again. 
> 
> So, this whole thing came together in like? Three months??? Which is absolutely insane. The doc is well over two hundred pages long, making this easily the longest single fic I’ve ever written. Writing this was the weirdest combination of tunnel-visioned focus and sleep deprived rambling and I fully intend to never repeat the experience.
> 
> Also everyone thank my unofficial beta reader for this project, RumpledBook, without whom this wouldn’t have been half as coherent. We love her, she is incredible and very sweet and put up with me being way too horny for this ship.
> 
> Some notes:  
> \- There’s some potentially triggering stuff here. It has been tagged to the best of my ability, but if you are unsure about if something will trigger you, you are always welcome to message me on my tumblr, twitter, or pillowfort (same usernames as here) and I will give you as much information as you need, no judgement.  
> \- Please don't take anything that isn't explicitly educational (here or anywhere else) as sex ed or sex advice, if you want to learn more you can visit this page [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25863418) where I've linked some good resources for sexual health and education. Stay safe.

If Jim were feeling introspective, he could probably track the exact path that led him to this moment. And, as usual, it starts with the catalyst of his father leaving.

Blaming every little thing that goes wrong on Leland is starting to feel a little lazy even to him. But, well...

If Leland were here he wouldn’t be breaking into a fishing boat in the middle of the night. 

The docks near his mom’s bed and breakfast are usually populated by a rotating cast of little ships Jim knows the name of by heart. In comparison, the unassuming and relatively large skiff that showed up a week ago sticks out like a sore thumb. 

It’s… “beat up” isn’t quite the right phrase. It’s an old boat, but clearly someone has gone through a great amount of trouble to fix her up at least enough to sail. The paint is chipping in places, making the name hard to read beyond the _‘-Legacy’_ at the end, and from his first step Jim can see tools strewn about the deck. Little sections of half finished repairs are peppered everywhere, places where something came up and the owner had to leave early. Jim recalls that the ship rolled in after a hearty storm, which accounts for most of the damage he can see at a glance.

His boots make a heavy clunk when he drops down onto the deck, and Jim winces and pauses, waiting to see if there’s a response. 

He scans the main deck. It’s not a large ship, with just one deck that wraps around the enclosed helm, with a stairwell leading down. The soft moonlight leaves everything either navy blue or pure black, but he can see that nothing is moving aside from him. Even the houses up the hill are still and quiet, but it _is_ nearly one in the morning. 

The ship stays silent, nothing but the gentle lapping waves against the hull to break the soft white noise of nighttime. Distantly, Jim can hear the tide filtering into the rocks that make up the shoreline, the water following the path of the docks and sounds like a snake slithering under his feet. 

It’s familiar. This dock has been home to him since he could stumble to his feet, and he’s been sneaking out here alone for almost that long. It’s not a long trek down the cliffs from the Benbow. He can walk the winding path almost in his sleep.

It takes him tripping over a coil of rope and almost landing face-first before he begrudgingly pulls out his flashlight. He prefers working in the dark, where nobody is going to spot him, but being found in the morning curled in a heap with a broken nose would be far more embarrassing, so he aims the beam just over the toe of his boots and picks his way to the helm and the stairs leading below. 

With the light on, he can see the messy deck even more clearly. The sheer amount of stuff he has to slink over to reach the stairs makes him wonder what kind of disaster he’s going to find when he enters the cabin proper. 

Despite his worries, the interior is much more well organised, if sparser. There’s still things on the floor, but most of the mess is confined to the slim counters bordering the kitchen on three sides and the small table taking up the rest of the wall. There’s a coat, thick black leather thrown over a chair, and its outline scares the living daylights out of him when the light scans over it, but otherwise the room is empty of all personal items. All the miscellaneous stuff covering the flat surfaces is from a toolbox or an electronic repair kit. 

Figuring the coat is as good a place to start as any, Jim digs through the pockets first. He discovers quickly that this too is mostly devoid of personal artifacts. The only notable thing he finds is an odd pattern of wear on the inside of the right sleeve and shoulder seam, like it’s been rubbing against something hard for most of it’s lifetime. Something that is markedly absent on the left side.

Jim shrugs, moving on further into the ship. 

He finds a few more rooms, scattered around him. A boiler room, in the space behind the stairs, with a toolbox laying discarded on the floor. A pantry across a tiny hall from the galley, mostly empty except for some boxes of emergency rations and a med kit. The cabin looks promising, looking more well lived in and with an adjoining bathroom, but upon closer inspection this is just as empty of anything worthwhile. Even a small corner by the stairwell filled with electronics is a bust, everything being too old to bother with and nailed down to boot.

It’s beginning to piss him off, that somehow this person has nothing worth pawning on their ship. No wallet, no metal safe, not even booze or a dirty magazine. The place looks like it’s already been gutted once, and Jim wonders if somebody beat him to the punch this time.

He’s starting to consider digging through the toolkits for something that he could repurpose for his bike when a sound comes from the stairs to the deck. 

Jim freezes. His fingers fumble to turn off his light, the beam cutting out and leaving him alone in the pitch dark hallway. He’s totally blind for a moment, only his sense of hearing informing him that something is definitely onboard with him.

He prays that maybe it’s an animal, perhaps hunting around like him for something to steal, but as the sound becomes louder it’s clear that a person is walking around above Jim’s head, and then the panic sets in. 

He can’t run. The only way out is up the stairs onto the deck, and the ship isn’t big enough for him to sneak away without whoever is up there spotting him. There’s a tiny possibility that he could run and hope the darkness hides his identity, but a light brighter than his own crosses over the top of the stairs and Jim vetoes that idea. 

The person, whoever they are, isn’t moving stealthily. Either Jim has crossed paths with another would-be-thief who doesn’t give a damn about getting caught, or he’s been found out by the owner. 

Jim doesn’t really think his luck is good enough for it to be a fellow burglar.

His stalled form startles into action as the person grunts and begins to descend the stairs. Jim bolts for the first door within reach, the pantry, and then shuts it behind him as quietly as he can. His wild scramble is not as subtle as he’d like, and he winces when the person on the stairs pauses. 

“Come on out, now. No point in hidin’.” A rough voice calls. 

They saw him. He’s fucked, he’s _so_ fucked. He’s gonna get dragged to the police, _again,_ and mom is going to have to bail him out, _again._ Fuck, Amelia’s going to have a field day when she hears what he’s done now.

The steps closer to his hiding spot are leisurely, like they know they’ve got him pinned, and Jim tries to strategize. There’s a small set of pliers on the floor next to him, and he weighs the heft of them in his palm as he considers. They’re not long, or particularly sharp. Maybe if he sinks these in somewhere the owner will be distracted and Jim can make a run for it. 

He doesn’t get the chance to add assault to his already lengthy rap sheet before the door swings open. He’s already on his ass, and swings an arm up to shield his eyes from the wash of harsh light that sweeps over him.

“There ye are.” The man growls. He sounds annoyed, and Jim’s instinct to snap back rears it’s head, until his voice dies in his throat as the light swings towards the floor.

It fills the room with indirect illumination that is much easier for Jim to see in, and he swallows back his sharp words with a loud gulp. The man standing in front of him is tall, and looks every inch like a hardened sailor who might have been a pirate captain, in another life. Jim isn’t ashamed to admit his bravado flees him at the sight. The guy is built, looking like he could toss Jim around like a Saint Bernard with a rabbit. 

His chest constricts further as he scans the man's face. As his eyes adjust he can see the harsh glare etched into his features, but that isn’t what gives him pause. The knots of scar tissue he can see framing the man’s face strikes Jim. Old wounds that have healed, but left obvious marks. When he looks closer, he can see the right eye has clearly been replaced. In fact, it looks like his arm is made from the same mix of industrial metal plates, pistons, and wiring. 

It’s slowly donning on Jim that he has broken into the exact wrong boat, and that there’s a pretty good chance he’s about to be murdered. 

The light moves up, and Jim’s eyes burn as it crosses his vision again. Spots of black dance under his eyelids when he closes them, his pupils still stinging as they struggle to adjust.

The man grunts, and Jim can hear him shifting in place. He still can’t see, so he’s surprised when a wide hand wraps around his bicep and yanks him to his feet. 

“Hey!” He shouts, bringing his free left hand up to shove at the unyielding metal fingers gripping his arm hard enough to hurt. 

“Not very sneaky, for a thief.” The man remarks, completely unaffected by Jim’s spitting. He’s even stronger than he looks, and Jim wilts a little as his escape becomes even more improbable.

“I’m not a fucking thief!” He snaps back, ignoring the fact that he pretty obviously came here _intending_ to be one.

“Just a trespasser, then?” The light is pointed at the floor, the man’s right hand keeping hold of Jim easily enough that the beam barely even wavers as the boy struggles. 

He turns and walks into the hallway, dragging Jim with him as though he weighs no more than a pissed off cat. Jim quickly comes to the conclusion that his struggle is completely futile. That doesn’t stop him, of course; he still yanks on his arm hard enough that his shoulder aches with every tug. 

The man gives him another shake, pulling up on his limb until he has to stay still or risk losing his balance. His dignity is beaten enough as it is, if he falls on his ass he’s never going to live this down. 

That doesn’t mean he’s going to be docile though.

“Fucking let go!” He snaps, as he’s pulled up the stairs. 

Jim honestly doesn’t expect the man to listen to him, so he yelps embarrassingly as he’s thrown down onto the deck. He manages to catch himself on his forearms, knees still hitting hard and his teeth rattling as he lands in a heap on a coil of rope. 

The light covers him again, and Jim turns with his teeth gritted in anger. At himself, honestly, he was the one dumb enough to get caught. It’s a lot harder to see the man now. All Jim can make out is a vague shape looming over him, keeping him pinned like a fox with it’s leg in a snare. 

“Wanna tell me where ye came from, lad?” The man asks. 

Jim doesn’t say anything. He glares- or, well, _squints,_ really. The light shifts, when Jim’s reluctance makes itself clear, and he hears a sigh from the man standing over him. 

“Or we could take this down to the police station, if ye prefer?” 

The statement is dripping sarcasm, but Jim is too surprised to be annoyed. 

“You’re not gonna take me there anyway?” He doesn’t quite believe it, and it must show in his tone. 

“I’m bettin’ yer parents’ll be less pleased to pick ye up from the station than have ye dropped off at the door.” 

Jim’s slight hope fades a little at the mention of his mother. His curiosity turns back to anger, and he kicks out at the wooden beam near his feet. The light sways down, following the halfhearted blow before moving back up to his face. 

“Doesn’t matter anyway.” Jim mutters, looking away only half to save his eyesight. His spine feels limp where it’s curved around his ribcage, his body sagging on the rough coil of hempen rope. 

The man doesn’t say anything. He just waits, like he already knows what decision Jim is going to come to. It pisses him off, makes him wish he’d turned the pliers into a weapon, but then this interaction would probably not be nearly as civil. 

“Benbow Inn, up the hill.” He jerks his head towards the outline of the house, defeated. 

He’s expecting the man to grab him by the arm again, so he doesn’t immediately respond to the palm that opens harmlessly towards him. The light is being angled down again, enough that he can kind of see the guy past it, and he takes a moment to follow the mechanisms up to the shoulder. 

He doesn’t take the offered hand, not least because he’s a petty teenager and doesn’t want to give an inch of courtesy to the guy who caught him snooping. He crawls to his feet, shoulders hunched even before he feels the man grab him by the collar of his jacket and start to guide him towards the docks. 

The walk up the docks and to the road is silent. Jim quietly contemplates his fate, how incredibly grounded he is when his mom sees him on the doorstep. His boots keep scuffing at stones on the ground, kicking them off into the grass and flat dirt. Some of them bounce down the hill into the quarry a little ways off, the sound echoing until it fades to nothing. 

The man doesn’t say anything either, only the light between them illuminating the flat ground up the path. 

Jim sees the light come on in his mom's room, before they’ve even reached the door, and he sinks down as if to hide in his jacket. 

“Shit…” He mutters, and in the corner of his eye he sees the man glance at him briefly. 

His mother’s footsteps precede any knock on the door, by several seconds. Jim hears her storming downstairs, and thinks hard about making a dash for the quarry. Maybe he can hide in there until she’s not mad anymore. 

Before he can make up his mind, the door flings open and Jim winces when he sees Sarah, hair in a messy ponytail and wrapped in her robe to guard against the autumn winds. Her expression is disappointed, and before she’s even finished opening the door her hands are on her hips. 

“Pardon ma’am, but I caught this one sneaking around my ship. He says he’s yours?” The man says. His voice is smooth, charming even, and he sounds nothing like the guy who’d harshly yanked Jim out of the pantry not ten minutes ago.

“Jim!” She hisses.

“Yeah, okay, I’m home, you can let go now.” He snarls, trying to tear his way free from the confining grip. He succeeds, though it’s obvious the man let him go.

Jim tries to make a beeline for the stairs, to avoid the worst of his mother’s anger, but he’s not so lucky.

“Oh no, you are staying right here.” She barks, tugging on the back of his jacket and halting his movement. He stops mid-step, more out of a sense of obligation than truly being held captive, but he doesn’t turn around to face either of the adults behind him. 

“Jim, what would’ve happened if you were caught by the police?” She hisses, and Jim feels his face burn with shame. It’s bad enough that they’re having this argument for the hundredth time, but does she have to do it with someone else watching?

“It’s hard enough keeping this place afloat by myself, and now you’re going off on crime sprees in the middle of the night-” 

“It wasn’t a crime spree, mom!” He snaps, turning to face her. “I didn’t even steal anything.” _This time._

Her face is hard, uncompromising. She doesn’t believe him, rightly so, and all of the fight drains out of him.

“Whatever.” He mutters. The man is still standing at the door, watching all of this with a passive look of… sympathy? No, he must be reading that wrong. 

Jim shoots a glare his way, instead of to his mother, and pulls out of her reach, moving towards the stairs again.

“Jim.” She says, warning. He doesn’t stop.

“James Hawkins!” She shouts, and Jim pauses on his way up the stairs. He turns to look at her over his shoulder, eyes roving briefly to the brawny figure in the doorway. 

She doesn’t even look disappointed, just… lost. She doesn’t know why he did it. Truthfully, Jim doesn’t either. But no matter how many times he tries to clean up his act and be the son his mother wants, they always end up back here. 

It's more effort than it’s worth, at this point. 

He walks the rest of the way up the stairs, fighting the sting of tears in his eyes. All of his energy leaves him as soon as he reaches the landing at the top of the stairwell, and Jim lists into the wall as soon as he’s out of the light of the sitting room. The shadow of the railing reaches up the wall behind him like cage bars, and Jim stares morosely for a moment, something sick roiling in his stomach. 

A sound from downstairs makes him pause. He turns around and leans as close as he can get without being seen, back flat against the wall.

The scrape of a chair and his mother’s sigh is telling. She’s exhausted. A soft murmur that might be a “Thank you, for returning him,” reaches Jim, but he tries not to pay too much attention to that. The door closes, softly, and by the creak of someone leaning against it Jim guesses the man hasn’t yet left.

“He’s not a bad kid.” Sarah says, louder, sounding more like she’s trying to convince herself than defend her son. She’s said the words so many times but Jim can tell she’s starting to wonder if they’re really true anymore. 

He wonders too, sometimes. 

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” 

He knows, from the resignation in her voice, that she doesn’t believe that. This is just the latest in a long string of incidents. 

“Lad’s had a hard go of it?” The man’s voice sounds soft, and Jim doesn’t instantly recognise it as his. 

“He…” Sarah sighs. “It’s… been hard, for Jim, these past few years. I think he’s… lost. Right now.” 

Jim doesn’t begrudge his mother opening up this stranger like this, he can’t. Delbert is nice, but he lives on the other side of town with his work and a family of his own, and she’s so isolated out here. 

Jim can’t stay, though. Standing here, listening to his mother air her grievances, it’s too much for him. He knows they hear him, when he walks away. He doesn’t try to hide his footfalls, and the soft conversation pauses as he treads down the hall. It’s only after he’s in his room again that the sound of voices picks up again, muted behind doors and walls just enough to muffle the words. 

He doesn’t bother to change his clothes, just crawls onto his bed and closes his eyes. 

* * *

The drive through town the next morning is tense and silent. Jim isn’t interested in discussing what went down last night, and neither is his mother. 

Sarah drives with barely a glance at her son. Her mouth isn’t a tight, frustrated line like it is some mornings; instead they’re both haunted by shadows under their eyes from a restless night. 

Jim keeps looking over throughout the drive. Her hands are tight on the wheel, and she’s staring straight ahead at the road unerringly. She’s ignoring him, which should be better than being yelled at, but it feels so, _so_ much worse. 

Eventually Jim gives up. He rests his elbow on the window jam and puts his chin into his hand, watching the trees go by until he’s feeling motion sick, but he still can’t look in his mother’s direction. 

When she stops at the squat, brown brick building, Jim gets out without needing to be asked. He shoves his hands into his pockets and walks up the short paved walkway, hearing the crunch of his mothers car pull away over the gravel.

The waiting room is exactly as beige and uninteresting as it always is. Jim checks in and sits, dicking around on his phone for the seven minutes it takes for Amelia to allow him in. He’s her first appointment of the day, and as usual, she’s impeccably on time. Nine AM on the dot, Jim enters her office and drops into the chair across her desk. 

Amelia closes the door behind him, then rounds the desk and sits. Her back is straight and she looks just as prim as ever. 

Amelia Smollett is a tall, slim woman. She’s not fragile, though; Jim has seen her when someone gets combative, and he knows she could wipe the floor with his scrawny ass any day of the week. Her auburn hair is slicked back, a few strands framing her face but otherwise perfectly tucked behind her ears. Her eyes are green and sharp, and Jim always gets the impression of a cat staring down an intruder to its home when he visits her. 

The feeling intensifies as she folds one manicured hand over the other, resting her chin on the back of her hands and looking at Jim very closely. 

He sinks down in his seat slightly, wondering if his mother called ahead about last night.

“I received an interesting correspondence this morning, James.”

That’s a yes, then.

“It would appear that you had an eventful evening. Would you care to elaborate as to the goings on? I’ve had a brief overview from your mother, but I’d like to hear more from your point of view.” 

The language might be mocking, from anyone else, but Jim is used to it by now. This is just how Amelia speaks, with a posh accent and those SAT words Jim doesn’t even pretend not to roll his eyes at anymore. 

“Not really.” He mutters. He knows it’s pointless, but he’s a stubborn teenager and he’ll hang onto his rebellion for as long as he can.

Amelia’s eyes harden. She blinks, leaning back until she’s sitting up straight again. She pulls her laptop towards her, eyes scanning over the screen quickly.

“You broke into a docked fishing boat at two o’clock in the morning, were discovered by the owner, a Mr. Silver, and then brought up the hill to your mother by that same owner, correct?” 

It’s not a question, Amelia already knows all of this for a fact, she’s just making sure that Jim knows that as well. It’s a lot harder for him to squirm out of responsibility like this, but it also keeps him from digging himself into a ditch of lies and half truths. In a way, he’s weirdly grateful that she’s being open about it.

“Yeah.” He mutters, studying the carpet between his feet. He realises that he never caught the guy’s name, then abandons the train of thought at the ominous sound of rustling papers.

“You are aware that under the regulations of your parole any offence can be persecuted to the full extent of the law, as an adult?” 

One eyebrow is raised imperiously, and Jim’s chest clenches with fear, a little. The terror, the knowledge that once again he fucked up paralyses him for a second. 

“So what?” He snaps. 

Amelia’s face doesn’t change, not so much as a twitch of a muscle, but Jim senses a difference in her all the same. 

“You were caught trespassing on private property, Mister Hawkins-” 

“It’s a public dock, anyway.” He huffs. “If he didn’t want people snooping he should’ve put a lock on the damn-” 

“Mister Hawkins.” Amelia cuts Jim off, annoyance flickering in the green of her eyes. He stops, looking away from her.

Amelia sighs. She sweeps her hair out of her face, eyes sharp as Jim slouches down further.

“Thankfully, the owner is not interested in pressing charges. I do, however, think that some repentance is in order, after your stunt last night.” 

Jim rolls his eyes. Community service, this time? Or maybe she's going to try sending him to a camp for troubled teens again, that should be fun. 

“After a conversation, your new acquaintance has expressed an interest in your progress, and I believe it would be wise to take him up on his offer.” 

“Offer?” Jim sits up at this. “What offer?” 

Amelia doesn’t look smug, her professional facade is as impeccable as ever, but Jim knows her well enough to know when she’s enjoying something.

“For the next several weeks, you are to help Mister Silver in returning the ship to good repair. Every day you are not working with me or with your mother is to be spent under his mentorship.” 

“What?” Jim sits up straight for the first time since he arrived. His tone is edging further towards incredulousness. She _can’t_ be serious.

“Personally, I think an apprenticeship of this nature would serve you well, James. You have always been interested in mechanical work, haven’t you?” 

She’s definitely laughing at him. Jim’s mouth is open in shock. 

“Who’s to say he’s not gonna be a _worse_ influence on me? What happened to not leaving kids alone with strangers, huh?” He sputters back. 

“Rest assured, I would not leave you in the hands of anyone I believe would harm you.” Amelia is deadly serious now. “A background check is in the midst of being performed, but your mother has already expressed that she believes this could be good for you, and I have met with Silver to determine that he is not a threat to your well being.” 

Jim’s mouth closes with a click. _Fuck._

With all of his rage gone, Jim can see no way out except to appeal to his parole officer’s sympathy.

“Amelia-” 

Of course, she sees right through him.

“James, your mother has indicated that she believes this will be good for you, and I am inclined to agree.” 

He hears the thing she isn’t saying, that they’re hoping a male presence in his life might lend him some stability. His bitterness at the idea cannot be overstated.

She’s staring at his sullen expression, and Jim feels the swelling anger within him stop, and then collapse back into itself. Like a hot air balloon deflating. He looks to the wall, to the high window near the ceiling.

“Whatever.”

The rest of their time is wasted on Amelia trying to coax him into engaging with her, but Jim refuses. He’s frustrated and uninterested, and at this point he’s just biding his time until the meeting is over and he can go home already. 

She releases him at nine thirty, and Jim walks out to the parking lot with his head down and his collar up, even though it’s midmorning and only the beginning of fall. 

Sarah pulls up not long after, and Jim gets in the car without a word. He closes the door hard, mostly by accident, and his mother sends him a look. He doesn’t apologize or take it back, instead anger bubbles up. It’s just a door, why is she looking at him like he kicked a puppy?

The car drives off and Jim keeps staring out the window.

“How’d it go, today?” His mom asks, after five minutes of quiet. She’s done being mad at him, apparently. 

Or maybe not. Maybe she’s just trying to figure out how grounded he is when he gets back home. It wouldn’t be the first time she punished him for being a shit during his meetings with Amelia.

“You told her about last night.” Jim mutters, accusing.

The silence settles over them again, like a soaking wet blanket. 

“Jim, what was I supposed to do?” Sarah asks.

He doesn’t honestly know. He doesn’t know what he wants her to say to make him feel better. 

He stays quiet.

Sarah sighs.

“I’m scared. This keeps happening and honestly? I don’t know what to do. Nothing we’ve done has helped, ever since Leland-” 

Jim whips his head to face her, his heart rate picking up and hurt he can’t stop welling into his eyes. Just saying his _name_ is taboo in their house. She cuts herself off, and looks back at the road.

Sarah drives in silence for a moment before she pulls into a small parking lot on the side of the road. The two of them sit there, Jim staring at his mother with guarded anger and her staring straight ahead, hands still on the wheel.

The clock on the dash ticks over the minute mark twice before she speaks. 

“Jim, I know this has been hard for you. And I _know_ you’re angry, and you don’t think it matters, but it does.” 

She turns to him now, reaching for him with her hands and catching his face.

“Please, Jim. I know I’m losing you and the more I try to hold on the faster you’ll go. And… I’m okay with that, just so long as you’re _safe_.” 

He can’t find it in him to pull away from her.

“Do this for me, Jim? Please?” 

He closes his eyes. They hurt, in the way that means he didn’t get nearly enough sleep. His mother’s exhaustion is showing and Jim knows she’s scared, what she’s scared _of._ He’s almost eighteen, and his record doesn’t exactly inspire confidence for a sudden heel turn.

Maybe it’s just the sleep deprivation, but he can’t drudge up the fight in him anymore. 

He just looks away, nodding mutely. 

She sighs, pulling her hands back to herself.

The car starts and the rest of the drive is spent in more silence. Jim’s mind is a whirlwind, and as soon as his mom parks he’s climbing out and rushing up to his room, scooping a handful of gravel from the driveway into his pocket as he does.

The escape out onto the roof is just as harrowing as ever. Every time Jim is acutely aware that if he falls or gets caught his mom is going to have a fit. She’s already told him a hundred times not to sit out on the roof like that, but it’s the only place he can think without the silence of the house below distracting him. Out here it’s just the gulls, the crash of waves on the seawall, the wind whistling through the rocky cliffs separating the inn from the shore. 

The first toss of a stone goes wide, plinking down into the brown grass of the plateau. Jim glares, following it up with another that pings off the edge of the cliff and bounces down into the ocean below. The satisfaction of the sound makes him smirk, but he’s not happy. 

With every toss he lets loose a tiny fraction of the anger consuming him. Every stone lands a bit closer to the house, his arm pulling back by an inch less each time. Eventually, when the handful of tiny stones is depleted, his wrist is barely moving to flick the rocks away. 

He leans his head back into the bricks of the chimney at his spine. The day has remained cloudy and cool, like it usually is this time of year, but the wind has died down and the birds are calmer. Even the ocean isn’t as loud.

The house is quiet. It never used to be quiet, before. There was always some kind of sound echoing through the walls. Music, his mother’s laughter, his fathers deep baritone. Even just the white noise of someone walking around was enough to make the place feel alive. 

At least when he’s out here Jim can pretend it’s just distance that’s causing the silence. 

Not that he would ever admit to that. He’d rather stick his hand on a hot stove than say anything like that out loud. That would be admitting that he misses his fa- _Leland,_ which he doesn’t. He’s glad he’s gone. 

_“Except that’s a lie, isn’t it?”_ He thinks to himself. Of course he misses his father. When he was here (which admittedly, wasn’t often) life was awesome. Mom was happier, Jim had honestly thought that his father was amazing. 

The day he took off still sits fresh in Jim’s memory. The image of Leland walking away isn’t dusty or hard to recall, like some of the ones from his childhood. No, this is shined with the polish of frequent revisiting. That first year Jim had gone over it a hundred thousand times, trying to figure out how he could have made his father stay. He’d hoped, back then, for a sign. A call, a text, an email, even a fucking _letter,_ but he never heard so much as a peep from the man until several years after the fact. 

Every therapist he’s seen has told him it wasn’t his fault, but Jim knows better. He saw the email on his mother’s computer, a week after Leland left. He knows his mom loves him, but he harbors no more illusions about his father. Not after that. 

It’s kinda hard to want to trust anything, after. All of Jim’s memories of his father are warm and rose tinted, even now. Everything except that last morning of bag packing and stoic silence is a fucking dream, but Jim knows it was all faked and that tainted it. 

The swirling thoughts eventually bring him full circle, back to the incident that started this in the first place. The boat, Silver, his own shitty fucking decision making. Not for the first time, Jim wishes he had managed to keep himself from his reckless impulses and saved a lot of trouble for all of them.

_“Too late now.”_ He thinks, sighing aloud. He’s done it, he’s in trouble _again_ and he’s not getting out of it so easy this time, Amelia had made sure of that. There’s nothing left anymore but to grit his teeth and bear the consequences. Hell, maybe it won’t be so bad. Silver didn’t really seem all that pissed to find Jim on his ship, maybe he’ll get out of this without a scratch.

Somehow Jim really, really doubts it.

* * *

The morning is grey and cold, again, and Jim is more pissed off than ever that he’s awake at seven in the fucking morning for no goddamn reason. 

No, there is a reason, and that just makes him even angrier. The reason is he’s a dumbass who wanted to raid a strangers boat in the middle of the night, and was actually stupid enough to get caught.

His hands are stuffed in his pockets, as he stands at the edge of the dock. He doesn’t want to be here, and there’s no sign of Silver yet. Maybe he’s not gonna show, and making Jim wait out here in the cold is just his version of getting back at the boy.

Just as he’s thinking of bailing, the dock sways with the telltale movement of someone walking up, and Jim groans to himself. 

“Jimbo, right on time.” 

Silver sounds pleased, far too jovial in the morning when Jim is still waiting for his coffee to kick in. Turning to look at him, Jim finds the man looks very different in the foggy morning sunlight. He’s not nearly as intimidating, though he still stands a head taller than Jim as he approaches. 

The smile is a change of pace though. Generally Jim tends to draw looks of distrust, if he isn’t ignored outright. The way Silver walks up on him is so different it’s actually jarring, friendly and amicable like they weren’t at odds just the other night.

He stumbles at a clap on his shoulder. He wants to turn to the man and growl something snarky, but Silver is already boarding the ship and waving at Jim to follow. 

“Come on, won’t throw ye off this time, and there’s lots of work to be done.” 

Jim thinks about turning around and walking away. There’s nothing stopping him, technically. He could go sulk on the roof and nobody could do a thing about it. 

But he thinks about his mom, her face when Silver had held his arm up at the door. She hadn’t even looked surprised anymore, just sad. 

Begrudgingly, he turns and follows this total stranger onto his ship. 

The deck is still a mess of rope and plywood, today. It’s easier to navigate, in the dreary morning, and Jim doesn’t have to step over that many things. He’s almost more annoyed he managed to trip over anything at all when there’s otherwise plenty of room in between all the piles of junk. 

“What is all this stuff anyway?” He asks, parting the silence as Silver is leading him down into the interior again. 

“Repair supplies. Poor ol’ girls’ been in rough shape since I got ‘er.” He pats the wall as he passes, and Jim really wants to roll his eyes but he checks himself before Silver catches on. 

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Jim is wholly expecting to be instructed to work, so he’s left just sort of standing awkwardly when Silver moves around without a word towards him. He drops a bag onto the table Jim had noticed last night before moving on to the three quarters counter of the galley. 

Silver turns and looks like he’s surprised to find Jim standing there still. He looks between him and the table for a moment before he gestures at it. 

“G’on, lad. It’ll be a minute ‘til I’m ready to work anyway.” 

Reluctantly, Jim moves around behind him and sits. His eyes drop to the chair across from him, taking up one of the two sides of the table not bordered by booth seating. The coat is still there, slung over the back. Looking at Silver, it makes a lot more sense now, the size and the odd wear situation both. 

The bag on the table looks suspiciously like it contains bagels. Jim realises that he never had breakfast this morning, and that he’s hungry. Like, really hungry. 

But he’s stubborn, so he refuses to do more than covet them from a distance. He folds his arms, resting his elbows on the table and setting his chin on top of them. Staring around at the tiny galley seems like as good a passtime as any, right now.

Calling it sparsely decorated would be an overstatement. Jim isn’t sure it’s decorated at all, actually. The only things in the room besides requisite kitchen appliances are coils of rope and an old fashioned pressure gage, which Jim thinks might be just another important piece of kit, especially considering it’s position next to the wall clock. 

He startles when Silver drops a tangle of wires and metal plates onto the table. He picks up his head, sitting back to give the man room and protect himself from being caught up in the pile. 

Silver sits down in the chair, seemingly content to leave Jim be for the time as he sets to work on whatever the hell this mess is supposed to be. 

Scratch that. He pauses, glancing up at Jim just as he sets his fingers into the red green and black wires and stopping, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips.

“Not hungry?” He asks, looking pointedly at the paper bag, which has been jostled towards Jim in the commotion. 

“Mom always told me not to take food from strangers.” He shoots back, crossing his arms and leaning into the booth.

Silver smiles, looking entirely too pleased with Jim’s boldness. 

“Didn’t seem to have a problem stealing from one though.” He points out.

Jim looks away. He’s not wrong. Begrudgingly, he grabs a bagel, biting into it and chewing, violently. Silver looks satisfied all the same, and Jim is annoyed to discover that the bagels are really good, actually. Even without butter or anything, he wolfs down one in a few quick bites.

A short while passes like that. Silver is working, not forcing Jim to do likewise, at least not yet, and Jim can only keep staring suspiciously for so long before he gets bored. 

“How’d you spot me anyway?” He asks. He thought he’d been pretty sneaky getting on the ship. 

Silver doesn’t stop what he’s doing, fiddling with the wires, but he looks up at Jim briefly, another small, knowing smile on his face. 

“Saw a light wanderin’ around out here, on my ship, an’ nobody else but me’d be out there that late.” 

He does stop then, smiling like he’s sharing an in joke.

“Well, nobody up to anythin’ good.” 

Jim rolls his eyes and grabs another bagel. Now that he’s been given the go ahead, his body is planning to eat the whole bag, apparently, a plan he can fit into his spiteful agenda. Silver notices, glancing up when Jim is rummaging around in the paper bag, but he doesn’t say anything to dissuade the boy. 

Jim polishes off two more bagels in the silence of the next twenty minutes. He doesn’t take out his phone like he normally would, when left with nothing to do. That seems like advertising that he’s bored, and he’d rather be bored out of his mind than stuck with whatever Silver has in mind for him to do today.

“What was it ye were searching for, anyway?” 

Suddenly being stuck doing busywork and chores sounds like a vacation compared to this. Jim thought it was bad enough getting interrogated by Amelia and his mother, but this? No, this is worse. 

He wants to snap, to tell Silver it’s none of his business, but it is. They both know it became his business the second Jim stepped onto the creaky old ship with the intent to walk away with whatever loot he could carry. 

He shrugs, because that's less suspicious than humming and uhh-ing for a second to try and think, and he needs that handful of seconds desperately. 

“I gotta replace the brake fluid tubing on my bike, and mom isn’t gonna get it for me. She hates that thing.” 

It’s an easy lie, because it’s mostly true. His bike has been a pain in his fucking ass lately. With the cold rolling in and the dead, wet leaves slicking up all the trails it seems like every ride uncovers a new issue, a new part that needs replacing. Mom always looks at him like she’s scared, when he takes it out for a ride, and he hears her complaining to Doppler, sometimes. Wishing the damn thing would break for good, not enough to hurt him but enough to force him to find something else to pour all his focus into. 

Silver looks up from what he’s doing, and it’s only thanks to practice from Amelia that Jim doesn’t fidget under the searching gaze. He meets the older man’s eyes, one dark grey and the other a mix of mechanical parts. That, too, looks different in the light of day. Jim had sworn he’d seen a reddish orange glare the other night, but he can’t see any lights in the thing at all now. It doesn’t look like any prosthetic Jim has ever seen before, and not just because of the location. The arm is unusual too. It looks experimental, almost, not the soft, careful lines of something that’s been perfected in a lab before it went into use.

It’s turned into a staredown across the table, a pile of metal and wiring and bagels between them like a wall. Or a treasure trove, Jim supposes. He feels a little like a coyote trying to sneak bites of a kill from an angry grizzly. 

Silver squints, just slightly, looking Jim up and down like he’s searching for something, but he blinks and settles back into his chair before the younger man can comment on it. 

“Real scrapper, aye?” He asks, smirking. They’re talking about the bike again, and the tension slips out the window over the table, like it’s passed right through the glass. 

“You could say that.” Jim mutters, a similar smile quirking his lips. A private joke, Silver doesn’t know how accurate his assessment is. 

The metal on the table makes a clatter as it’s being moved around, and the tense line of Jim’s shoulders relax a little more as Silver returns to focusing on his work.

“Might have some tools ye could use, if you’re up for it.” Silver says, and Jim can’t help perking up a little. He continues; “What’s the model you’re workin’ with?” 

Jim stops, and shrugs again, this time not trying to bide his time, he just doesn’t know what to say. 

“It’s- it’s really not one model. The only parts I could get were from other broken down bikes, and nobody here really gives much of a fuck about what brand they’re using.” 

He rubs the back of his neck as he says it. Dirt bikes aren’t exactly cheap, but no one else had to cobble theirs together from scrap parts, and his frankensteined bike sticks out like a sore thumb even among the poorly maintained ones some of his peers use. He tries to avoid the tiny crowd from school who also ride the trails. He gets enough weird looks as it is.

Silver looks up at him, and Jim sees surprise on his face. He stops what he’s doing again, settling down the soldering iron and cocking his head very slightly where he’s looking at the boy. 

“Ye put together a dirt bike from scrapped parts? And it _works?_ ” 

Jim looks away. He wants to be a little offended, that the man is so shocked at this, but Silver only met Jim two days ago. One, technically, considering it was the early hours of the morning when Jim got caught.

“It’s not like it was hard.” He mutters. “The dump out in the woods tosses shit like that all the time. And it’s not like it’s a car, at least with this I don’t have to worry about making it street legal or anything.”

Silver’s surprise doesn’t settle. He manages to put a bit of a lid on it though, focusing on Jim with a look more akin to polite interest. 

Suddenly his mouth twists, a faint, crooked smile showing as he folds his forearms on the table. 

“Still, must’ve cost a pretty penny, gettin’ all those parts. Scrap ain’t cheap, ‘specially if it’s in good condition.” 

Jim has had enough experience with this not to sweat with fear by now, but he’s not sure he’ll ever not be nervous. Damn it, why can’t Silver just take this at face value?

“The guy running the dump doesn’t know what he’s doing. It’s not my fault if he’s selling parts below market value.” Nevermind most of his parts were gotten in the middle of the night with the help of a flashlight and a hole in the chain link fence.

Silver hums, still smiling, and Jim gets the sense he doesn’t entirely believe him, but he doesn’t push it. He looks back down to his work, and silence settles around them again. 

Jim is tempted to steal another bagel, just for the hell of it and to have something to do with his hands, but he doesn’t. His fingers itch to grab his phone, to do anything, so he settles for biting at his cuticles and nails.

“How fast can ye get it to go, then?” Silver asks. 

Jim grins, surprised, and relaxes. He crosses his arms again and leans back into the booth. Bragging about this is something he knows how to do. It’s rare that someone gives him an opportunity to show off, so he’s more than willing to take what he can get. 

“Faster than any of the ones around here.” He preens. “Probably faster than some of the ones on the racing circuit too, at least the unmodded ones.” 

Silver looks up at him again, something like respect in his eyes. He looks like he’s seeing something he didn’t expect, and Jim kicks one of his feet up onto the other bench of the booth, enjoying the feeling. For once he gets to be the one surpassing expectations, and that’s a fucking thrill every time.

He’s a little disappointed when Silver puts the mess of wiring down, standing up and beckoning for Jim to follow him. He’d been having fun, just now, so he’s kind of bitter about being put to work all of the sudden. 

Jim follows, shoving his hands into his pockets with a barely quieted huff of annoyance. So much for respect. Though, he supposes this is about as much as he could hope for. A fleeting moment of camaraderie among what will probably be a deluge of being silently ignored. 

Silver is waiting in the middle of the deck, when Jim trudges up the stairs. As soon as the boy stops at the top of the stairs he gestures at the mess of coiled rope and metal sheeting, walking close enough to clap Jim on the shoulder and smirking. 

“You’re starting up here today. See if ye can’t get all this mess into somethin’ organised, and after yer done with that mop up the deck. Think ye can manage that?” 

This seems suspiciously like busywork, to Jim, but he chooses not to comment. That doesn’t stop him from glaring sullenly at Silver from the side, but all he gets is another pat on the back before he’s being left alone again, the last question still unanswered. 

Jim sighs. Silver has gone belowdecks. If he wanted to he could fuck off, the man probably wouldn’t notice he was gone for a while. 

His promise to his mother rings in his head again, the way she’d looked when she begged him to do this for her, this time accompanied by the look Silver had given him, when he was talking about his bike. He’d looked… impressed. 

The deck really is a mess. There’s rope, sheet metal, plywood, on top of the tools he remembers seeing from his break in. The space isn’t large, it’s a relatively small boat, but it’s expansive enough that he knows it’s going to take him a while. 

Jim sighs and sets to work.

* * *

By the time Jim is done dragging everything into neat piles, his hands and arms are aching like never before. Even some of his worse falls on his bike haven’t hurt his bad. He has splinters from the wood and a nasty cut from the sheetmetal, but at least everything is organized now. 

The early afternoon has come and gone, and the bagels he’d had for breakfast were a while ago. Exhausted, Jim sits back against the railing, sighing. He rubs a hand over his bicep, digging his fingers into the muscles in the feeble hopes that it’ll stop the soreness from dogging him into tomorrow. 

“Well, look at that. Up here for an hour and the deck’s still in one piece.” Silver laughs, as he’s reaching the top of the stairs. Jim doesn’t even have the energy to be annoyed with him. He sends him a glare anyway, but his face is mostly screwed up into a grimace from the aches and pains needling at him. 

Silver walks over to where Jim is standing, surveying the boy’s work as he goes. Jim tries not to look at his face, to search for some indication of whether or not what he’s done is satisfactory. 

The gentle touch of a hand laid over his arm is unexpected, and Jim turns to Silver with an excuse already prepared on his tongue, except the man is smiling at him. Which is... new.

“Well done, lad. Didn’t think ye’d get it done this quick.” 

“I, uh…” Jim starts, blinking owlishly up at Silver. The look of approval doesn’t go away, and the longer he stares the more tongue tied he’s getting.

Jim looks down, his right hand coming up to rub at his neck. The second his palm makes contact he hisses, momentarily forgetting about the gash on his hand and paying the price for it. 

Silver’s expression changes, turning to one of concern as Jim jerks his hand away. 

Before he can stuff it into his pocket, the long metal fingers are wrapped gently around his wrist and Jim finds his hand being turned palm up, Silver’s other hand encouraging his fingers to uncurl. The skin is sliced open cleanly, at least. It’s not a ragged wound like some Jim has had, and he’d been fully prepared to leave it alone until he got home and could treat it.

“What happened here, lad?” Silver asks, in a tone just a touch softer than the no-nonsense one most adults like to use with Jim. 

Jim shrugs. He wants to pull his hand away, because the feeling of it being so close to someone else is uncomfortable, but at the same time Silver’s hands are warm. Both of them, not just the left one, which is not what Jim would have expected.

“I was moving some of the sheetmetal and my hand slipped.” He explains, already mumbling his explanation in preparation to get chastised.

Silver tsks, shaking his head slightly, and Jim hunches his shoulders to hide in the collar of his jacket.

“Should’ve let me know.” He says, and Jim winces. There it is. _Should have._ With all the times Jim has been told he _should_ or _shouldn’t_ do something, he’s come to loathe the word.

To Jim’s surprise, instead of launching into a lecture, Silver releases his hand and gestures for Jim to follow him into the ship. He goes, getting told to wait in the galley as Silver ventures into the cabin, returning with a brown plastic bottle. 

“Hand over the sink. Let’s clean that out ‘fore it gets infected.” 

Jim does as he’s told, pushing his sleeve up and holding his palm over the metal basin. Silver’s left hand grips his forearm carefully, more than wrapping around the skinny appendage as he steadies Jim. 

“S’gonna sting a bit.” Silver mutters, as the cap on the bottle pops open. 

“I know how peroxide works.” Jim says back, mulishly.

The flow of the antiseptic over the wound does indeed sting, but Jim has had far worse and he doesn’t hiss or tense up. He watches it foam and bubble passively, keeping his hand over the sink to dry as Silver puts the bottle away. 

He’s still half expecting to be told off, when Silver returns. He shakes his hand off to dry, examining the now clean cut. There’s no blood seeping out of it anymore, and he feels safe shoving it into his pocket and facing the man. 

“Think ye can mop the deck without managing to hurt yerself?” Silver asks, as he’s passing by on his way to the machine room. Jim opens his mouth and readies a snarky reply, only to find that Silver is looking over his shoulder at the boy and grinning. 

The annoyance dies in Jim’s throat. He stays in that stunned, quiet place as he follows Silver up on deck, carrying the mop he was handed while the older man handles the bucket of water. 

It should be irritating, being put back to work again so quickly, but it’s not. In fact Jim is startled to discover that he’s almost _eager_ to keep working. 

It’s weird. 

It’s even weirder the next day. 

Jim had honestly expected Silver to be (very justifiably) an asshole to him. He broke into his boat in the middle of the night, for fucks sake. Silver should be glad to be fucking rid of him!

Being nice one day could very well be a fluke. Or an intentional misdirection, on Silver’s part, so Jim doesn’t think much of it going into the next day. When it happens again though, it’s a little harder to write off as an accident. 

Silver looks exactly as pleased to see Jim the next day, still much earlier than Jim is used to for summer break. He doesn’t have a bag of bagels this morning, but he takes the remaining ones from the previous day and offers Jim coffee, and the boy doesn’t have with any snide remarks for him this time. 

The work is more of the same, stuff that Jim resents because he’s stuck doing what is clearly the menial shit Silver doesn’t want to do himself, but… 

Every time Jim finishes, every time he reports back to Silver that he’s done and the man surveys his work, he gets another pat on the back, another friendly hand on his shoulder and a ruffle of his hair. Silver tells him _“Well done, Jimbo.”_ and gives him another job to do, but Jim can’t hate it. As much as hauling supplies onto the ship sucks, Jim is finding motivation to do it, and do it well. 

Still, he’s looking forward to spending the next day helping mom around the inn. He has his allotted appointment with Amelia in the morning and after that the “grown-ups” had decided that Jim could spend the rest of the day at home, give him a little bit of leniency.

Not that mom is particularly lenient, because she’s not. His chores at the inn are just as numerous as the ones on the ship, albeit slightly less physically taxing. It’s annoying, but at least he doesn’t have to keep looking over his shoulder for Silver. 

Of course, he ends up doing that anyway. Every time he’s finished with a task he looks around, ready to report back to someone, and stalling before he goes to find his mother. It’s just the exhaustion, he tells himself, and he keeps telling himself that when his energy starts to flag not halfway through the day. The chores feel like they’re taking forever, even more than normal, and it’s well past dark outside by the time he’s allowed to go to bed, still with a load of dishes needing to be washed. 

The cold feeling that washes over him as he’s trudging up the stairs is well known by now. His mother’s sigh as she sets to work finishing up after him is haunting, even after he’s taken a shower and gotten into bed. The faint, sinking shame that settles in his stomach is almost comforting in it’s familiarity. 

He’s used to this, being the disappointment. It’s better in the long run. Lower expectations means he can only fall so far, when he inevitably screws up big time. 

* * *

The third morning he meets Silver isn’t like the others. It isn’t just cloudy, today, it’s raining. A slow drizzle that starts the second he steps outside and promises cold and wet for him all day. Jim’s mood, which had been less than charitable to start with, sours further as he makes the trek down to the docks, the rain steadily increasing all the while. By the time he’s mounting the deck and closing the door to the helm behind him it’s a fucking downpour, and Jim is really not looking forward to being stuck with busywork in the freezing cold.

The interior of the galley is warm, at least. Silver has beat him here for once, and greets Jim with a smile and a hardy pat on the shoulder.

“So he shows up after all.” He says, moving away again towards the galley. “Thought ye might decide to skip out on me.” 

Jim opens his mouth, a venomous reply all ready to go, but Silver turns to him again with a smile and drops a hand onto his shoulder. He squeezes slightly, just enough to make Jim pause.

“Good to have ye back, lad. Missed those extra hands yesterday.” He says, in a lower voice. He pats Jim’s shoulder twice, lightly, and then he’s moving away again and leaving the boy staring after him. 

Jim realises that his face is heated, and for once it isn’t shame ruddying his cheeks. The pleasant feeling of something warm coiling in his chest is like the first sip of hot coffee on a cold day, and he doesn’t really know what to make of it.

He tries to ignore it, to keep himself from fixating. Of course Silver missed him, he said it himself, Jim is extra hands. He’s helpful, that’s all. 

That doesn’t stop him from feeling all soft inside, or halt the half smile that forces its way onto his face when Silver gives him something to do that’s inside the cabin. Sorting and putting away all the food supplies is boring as hell, Jim will admit, and he takes his sweet time sitting in the warmth and close quarters of the pantry. But the look Silver gives him, when he finally exits and tells the man he’s finished, the literal pat on the back is enough to make him perk up all over again. 

He’s overthinking it, he knows. It’s not that deep, Silver just likes having someone else around to do the busywork, but all the same Jim feels proud of himself. He’s doing _well._ All of his work is met with a critical eye, but he’s never chastised at the end. Silver shows him what to do, and how to do it, and when Jim follows his instructions he’s rewarded. Either with a paw of a hand ruffling his hair or with a moment between tasks to eat and relax at the galley table.

This is dumb. It shouldn’t be this easy, for either of them. Silver should hate Jim, and Jim should resent Silver for getting him caught, but aside from a few offhand jokes, it’s like that first night never happened. 

The rain doesn’t let up all day, and Silver finally runs out of things to assign Jim to work on partway through the afternoon. He’s sitting at the galley table nursing a coffee, when Jim gets done picking through all the scattered tools and putting them away. 

Jim is surprised at just how quickly he’s gotten used to Silver being so close. Three days of working with the man and the awkward distrust between them is gone, like it was never there at all. Jim isn’t totally comfortable still, but he’s willing to at least exist in the same room as Silver for a while.

Jim huffs as he drops into the booth across from Silver. He watches with a slight smirk, apparently amused at how completely undaunted Jim is by his proximity anymore. 

He waits until the boy isn’t glaring directly at him to speak up.

"Working the ship’s not _that_ bad, is it?” 

Jim looks at Silver, at the laughter he’s clearly holding back. He’s being teased, he knows, and he wants to be annoyed with that on principle, but Silver looks so pleased and the joke is never at Jim’s expense. Not maliciously, anyway.

A smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, but he resists it.

"It’s better than being grounded, at least." Jim admits. He’d kind of assumed Amelia had given up on getting creative with his punishments, after the last attempt ended poorly. These days she usually just hangs the threat of military school over his head and expects him to fall in line. 

“Don’t sound too enthusiastic, lad, or I might have to work ye harder.” Silver says, dryly. Again Jim has to suppress his smile. 

“The last time Amelia had me make up for stealing I almost ended up with a broken nose. You’re gonna have to try a lot harder to match that.” Jim doesn’t mean it to come across as a challenge, and internally winces when he realizes how Silver might take it, but instead the reply seems to spark something else in the older man. 

“Now that sounds like a hell of a story.” He says, looking at Jim with intrigue now instead of just lazily observing him.

Jim blinks, unsure how to respond to that. People don’t usually look that interested when he mentions getting into a fight. His brain stalls for a minute, trying and failing to come up with a proper reply, before he shrugs and looks away. 

“It’s not, really. She sent me to a behavioral camp and I got into a fight with another boy there. We both got kicked out.” 

It’s really not much more complicated than that. Putting two dozen juvenile delinquents together in the woods with four adults to supervise never seemed like a great idea, to Jim. The fight wasn’t even the first of the week, it just happened to be the most brutal one.

To Jim’s surprise, Silver laughs again, almost a scoff. He isn’t sure what to expect when he looks over, but all Jim sees is Silver chuckling to himself.

“Ah, stick a load a trouble makers together an’ see what happens. I remember those days.” 

Silver has a look on his face like he’s recalling a distant memory, and Jim narrows his eyes suspiciously. Amelia told him Silver’s background check came back clean, didn’t she? 

“What the hell do you know about it?” Jim snaps, a little sharper than he intends. With all the times he’s been caught out with a joke in the past few days, he’s all too aware that this could be just another set up.

The man turns back to Jim and cocks his head by a few degrees. Before long his favorite knowing smirk is back, which rankles more than Jim expected it to.

“Ye really didn’t think ye were the only one who ever got sent to be straightened out, did ye?” 

Well, _no._ But that’s not the point.

“I thought your background check came back clean.” Jim says instead, coldly, folding his arms over his chest.

“Told ye about that, did she?” Silver mutters, almost to himself. Before Jim can reply, he continues; “Aye, the felony checks were all clear. But _juvenile_ records ‘r different, aren’t they? Pup can get up to all kinds of mischief that don’t show up on a background check, ‘less yer lookin’ for it.” 

Jim doesn’t know what to say, to that. Silver lets him stew for a minute.

“You’re joking.” Jim says, even as he’s realising that he doesn’t know for sure if Silver is or not. 

“Not at all, Jimbo. Got meself into plenty a trouble, when I was yer age.” He says it with some chagrin, but mostly he looks amused at the memory. 

“Like what?” Jim asks, guardedly. He’s curious, now, and he also doesn’t entirely buy that Silver isn’t just spinning a yarn to get on his good side.

Silver doesn’t take offense at Jim’s suspicion. If anything he looks even more pleased. He sits up, setting the mug on the table and facing Jim still with that enigmatic smile as he starts speaking. 

“Got banned from a pub, once.” He says, and then gives a look like he _knows_ that’s not nearly enough information to satisfy Jim. 

That gets the boy’s attention. He sits up in the booth a little, arms still crossed as he looks at Silver critically. He refuses to look too eager, even if he’s desperately curious right now.

“What’d you do?” Jim asks, eyes narrowed.

Silver grins, pleased, and takes a swig from his cup like he knows he has Jim’s attention now.

“Some fella started a fight, an’ I was the one who ended it.” 

He lowers his voice next, like he’s sharing a secret, and Jim can’t help but lean forward, engrossed.

“Well, turns out the loser was a dear friend of the owner. Him an’ a bunch of his friends tried to come after me.”

Silver grins, like this is a fun memory. Jim twitches, when he doesn’t look inclined to continue, and after a second of deliberating he caves and asks the question.

“What happened?” 

Another smile is pointed his way, and Jim’s first instinct is to search for insincerity, but he finds none as Silver continues.

“Had to hide in a warehouse overnight ‘til they stopped lookin’.”

Jim surprises them both with a laugh. When Silver gives him a curious look he explains, still smiling. 

“I uh, I was looking for parts on an old farm a few years ago. I thought nobody lived there. Turns out a new owner had just bought the place and had a guard dog.” 

Silver laughs, and Jim chuckles along with him. 

“When I heard the barking I ran, and the only place around was the hayloft. The new owner found me in the morning.” 

The burning shame of reliving that embarrassment is muted, strangely. It actually feels like Silver is laughing _with_ Jim rather than at him, and he really likes the feeling. 

The other man raises his left arm, pointing to a mostly healed scar dipping into the skin.

“Guard dog got me here. Got it to let go, but it took a good chunk with it.” 

Jim debates with himself for a second, before throwing caution to the wind and lifting his shirt slightly, showing part of his ribcage where a neat surgical scar sits. 

“I had a really bad crash on my bike, one year. The doctor said my rib was almost snapped clean through.” 

Silver looks impressed, and Jim’s slight worry that he’s overstepped their tentative alliance fades. It feels good, trading these stories with someone. God knows he couldn’t tell mom about this. The things she knows about are just sore spots between them, and the stuff she _doesn’t_ know about is something Jim has every intention of taking to the grave.

As their conversation fades into comfortable silence Jim looks out the window. The weather outside has let up now, leaving the docks outside slick and wet but no longer broken up by the patter of raindrops.

Something new has settled between them, he realises, and that revelation forces Jim to take a mental step back, to distance himself.

He stands up, intent on going on deck to dig through the tools there as well. He’s distracting himself, he can admit, as he clears his throat and starts for the stairs. 

The older man’s eyes turn to follow him curiously as he goes, and right as he reaches the bottom of the steps Jim has a mental image of his mother, giving him a disappointed look and crossing her arms. Jim has never really seen the point in manners, beyond the most basic form, but it feels wrong to just walk away like he normally would, right now. 

He toes at the floor as he half turns, muttering just loud enough for the words to carry.

“I’m uh, gonna go work on deck. But... thanks for the break, Silver. And the, uh, stories.”

The words are sincere. Silver seems to notice the change in Jim, and he looks into his own middle distance as the boy tries to find a non-awkward moment to climb the stairs and escape. 

“John.” He says, surprising Jim as he was turning to leave.

“What?” Jim asks, lost.

“My name. Figure if you’re gonna be workin’ here, might as well get comfortable wit’ each other, aye?” 

He’s smiling, but it’s completely genuine. This isn’t a joke, or the banter they’ve been starting to fall into around one another. 

Part of Jim wants to leap at the opportunity, but the skittish, nervous portion of him balks at the idea of getting too close. Even though it’s just a _name,_ he still shies away from the idea. 

Jim doesn’t say anything. When the older man turns away he starts up the steps, pausing soon after as more words drift up to him.

“I’ll be along to help ye here soon.” 

Jim’s foot is hovering on the next step, as he debates if he should open his mouth.

“Okay, _Silver_.” He says, as he walks the rest of the way up.

A surprised bark of laughter follows that, audible as Jim stops at the top of the stairs now to listen. The open delight in Silver’s laughter is warming, even pulling another smile from Jim where he’s listening. That bouying feeling is back, Jim feels good as he’s setting to work on deck.

When Silver comes out on deck later he doesn’t say anything about it, but it does seem like he makes a point to ruffle Jim’s hair and praise him with an “Attaboy, Jimbo” instead of anything less tactile or familiar. 

Strangely, Jim doesn’t mind that.


	2. Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deeper conversation, and Jim has a revelation.

It’s Jim's day off, and mom is off running errands in the next town over, which is an hour away. There’s nothing he needs to do and nobody is expecting him. 

It’s been a week since he started working with Silver, and this is the first day he’s not being herded through the day by him, Amelia, or his mother. Some small part of Jim is a little lost without the direction, but he refuses to voice that and instead decides this is an excellent opportunity to relax.

It’s rare that Jim digs into his stash, rare enough that there’s a thin layer of dust on the plastic when he pulls it out from behind his mattress. The mossy looking ball is crushed a little, but Jim doesn’t need it to look pretty to smoke it. He rolls some into a paper before tucking the extra away. He doesn’t want to risk leaving it out while he’s high. Even the lighter goes back into his desk drawer after he lights the tip of the joint. The ceiling fan over his bed is clocked to the highest setting and his window is wide open beside his bed, the smoke being carried outside as soon as it leaves his system. The fresh smell of salt and wet leaves fills the room, effectively masking the incriminating scent.

Jim lays back on his bed, one arm pillowing his head as he smokes. The high is almost instant. Immediately Jim’s limbs feel heavier, more relaxed. He sinks into the bed and sighs around the smoke. The ceiling is suddenly the most calming thing in the world to stare at. 

God, he fucking needs this. All the fucking _stress_ , the aching muscles from working all day, every day. It’s like soaking in a bath only it soothes his mind as well as his body, and this water won’t go cold on him. The sleepy, drowsy feeling is a well known one, and something Jim is more than ready to give over his afternoon to. 

The crunch of tires over gravel in the driveway drives the calm from his muscles in one motion. He sits up, eyes wide and more than a little confused. Mom? No, it can’t be mom. She isn’t supposed to be home for another couple of hours. 

Praying that he’s spontaneously started hallucinating, Jim gets up on wobbly legs and peeks out the window. 

His mother’s car is in the driveway. Holy _fuck_ she’s _home._

The panic hits Jim once, then a second time as the door downstairs opens loudly. He stumbles onto his ass on the floor, staring at the window in terror.

He can’t get caught smoking. Mentorship be damned, his mother would fucking murder him if she caught him smoking _anything,_ much less something that still isn’t fucking legal here. Jim stares at the half burned down stub of the joint, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s supposed to do to get out of this. 

It’s possible mom doesn’t know he’s home. He told her he might go to the docks today, she might not check? 

The sound of footsteps on the stairs makes him jump again, and Jim rapidly decides it’s not worth getting caught on that hunch. 

He gets to his feet as stealthily as possible, fixing the stub between his teeth to hold it as he climbs out the window. The shingles on the roof threaten to make him slip more than once, but Jim is determined to get away without making a sound. 

“Jim? Are you up here?” He hears his mother calling for him, when he’s already on the roof. He can’t turn around and close the window, not unless he wants to give away the entire thing. He scrambles to the side as his door opens, presumably his mother checking on him. 

Jim is very aware of the fact that he’s still high, as he’s holding his breath and sitting on the roof, hiding from his mother. His arms and legs feel loose, like they’re a couple stitches away from coming unattached. The calm from before is gone, replaced with adrenaline, but he still doesn’t feel completely alert.

He’s smart enough to realize when going for a ride on his bike could lead to disaster, so Jim vetoes that plan before it’s even fully formed. Going into town doesn’t seem like a particularly good idea either, considering. It’s hard enough keeping from bumping into people who want to rough him up when he’s got all his faculties around him. 

The sound of his door closing gives him some breathing room, at least. His mother’s footsteps move away, hopefully content that Jim isn’t home and that she doesn’t need to keep looking for him.

Jim is still in the process of wracking his brain when he fumbles his way off the roof and towards the docks, almost automatically. Silver said he would be elsewhere today, didn’t he? And it isn’t like he’s put a lock on the boat since Jim’s failed break in.

The docks are extra precarious today, but thankfully Jim makes it onto the ship without falling into the ocean. He has the wherewithal to drop the stub of his joint into the waves over the side before going into the interior. His foot catches a little on the stairs, but he makes it to the galley and the booth table unimpeded, and collapses onto his back with a groan. 

His high has taken a distinctly different turn, and Jim wants to blame the sudden activity on his twitchiness, but he can’t say for sure. Usually when he gets high he’s basically taking a nap, so this is a drastic departure from his normal. 

All the same, he starts to doze off on the bench easily. The galley is pleasantly warm and the creaking of the ship around him is kind of comforting, in a weird way. The soothing rhythm combined with the white noise of the waves is working on his drugged up brain like a blanket warm from the dryer.

Something shakes him, roughly, and Jim yelps and turns to try and swipe at whatever had disturbed him. He wasn’t asleep, at least, he doesn’t think he was, so the thought that someone snuck up on him is more than a little worrying. 

His hand slaps against metal, weak and useless and, if he’s being honest, a little pathetically. It barely even makes a sound in the close quarters of the galley, and Jim blinks up at the shadow leaning over him and clutching his shoulders, his eyes refusing to focus. 

It isn’t until Silver speaks that Jim actually recognises him.

“Jimbo? Y’alright lad?” 

He sounds worried, which is… something. Jim knows he should feel some sort of way about that, but he’s really, _really_ tired, and he just wants to go back to sleep, thank you very much. 

“M’fine.” He mumbles. “Sleepin’, leave me ‘lone.” 

Silver is giving him a weird look, he notices. He’s squinting at Jim, looking him up and down as if searching for injuries. He might be, actually. From the outside, having no clue what the fuck is going on, it might look like a concussion.

“Silver, I’m _fine,_ okay. Jus’ had a lil’ too much to smoke.” 

Relief washes over the other man’s face. He sighs, his grip loosening on Jim’s shoulder a little, and the boy slumps back into the booth with a grunt. 

Jim’s back hits the seat of the bench and suddenly something bubbles up in his ribcage. He snorts, bringing a hand up to his face to stifle the laughter rising from his chest and throat, but it’s already too late. 

“You thought I had a concussion.” He giggles, snickering into his fist and eyes squeezing shut in mirth. 

Jim can’t stop. He closes his mouth and ends up snorting through his nose, which only makes him crack up more. It’s been years since he had this kind of reaction to weed, what the fuck is wrong with him?

Silver drags him into a sitting position again, looking less than impressed at Jim’s struggle against his own diaphragm. He cocks an eyebrow and watches Jim fight against the relentless, childish laughter. 

“You were worried about me.” Jim singsongs, between fits. He’s trying to breathe, to slow down and focus, but it’s like hiccoughing. He has almost no control over it, and it’s easier to just give in and let the laughter die down on it’s own. 

Silver’s hard expression cracks, at the words, the utter joy in them. Jim can feel himself flushed from the laughter and he’s warm all over, but it isn’t until Silver shakes his head and smiles back that he truly blushes. 

He goes limp, everything except his still shaking ribcage completely pliant in Silver’s grasp. This is nice, he realises. He likes this. Being held up by Silver. His hands are warm, and gentle. Even the right one, which should be uncomfortable with all those hard edges.

“Alright, yer no use to me like this. Let’s get ye some sleep and sober ye up a little ‘fore we try any work.”

Jim is listening, but he isn’t paying attention, so he’s surprised when Silver slips both arms under his body and picks him up in a bridal carry. He flails at first, because his instinct when someone is touching him is to shy away, but Silver just holds him closer and more firmly and shushes him softly. 

He carries the still intermittently giggling boy into the cabin. Jim feels his hair brush the doorframe, when Silver enters. He moves his body so that the younger man’s head is guarded from actually making contact with the wall, instead shifting Jim up in his arms until he’s resting his head on the older man’s shoulder. It’s better, more comfortable than letting his head loll over backwards on his neck, like he’d been doing, so he lets himself stay like that until Silver lays him down on top of the blankets. 

“Thanks.” Jim purrs, from where he’s half buried in the thick quilt. His cheeks still ache with how wide his smile is. 

Silver shakes his head again, sighing. Jim blows at a strand of hair that has fallen into his face, and the older man tucks it back behind his ear with care enough that even Jim, high as a kite and all senses dulled, notices. 

“Go to sleep, Jim.” He tells him, softly, still smiling. The use of his actual name from Silver’s mouth is jarring. 

Before he can argue or react Silver stands and walks away, dowsing the light as he goes to leave Jim in the dim light from the misty afternoon outside. 

Strangely, Jim has no trouble falling right back to sleep, foreign bed be damned. 

* * *

Jim wakes up to a faint ache behind his eyes and a foggy feeling that refuses to go away. 

Late afternoon sunlight is filtering in from the window over the bunk, dust motes dancing in the air as he blinks owlishly up at them. He doesn’t feel high anymore, and the headache is telling that the effects are fading, but the last lingering remnants make his body hard to force upright. The fact that the bed is very comfortable, actually, makes it even harder. To the point where Jim’s first attempt to stand ends with him flopping over sideways into the blankets, unintentionally burying his face into them with a sigh. 

It smells clean, at least. Faintly like the spice drawer at home but softer, without the bite. Jim wonders if he might be higher than he feels as he deliberately takes a deep lungful, this time. There’s no good reason for him to do it, so he has to be still feeling the effects of whatever amped up weed he got stuck with.

By the time he’s standing several minutes have passed. He can hear Silver in the galley, the sound of him moving trailing down the hall like a lighthouse beacon. The smell of coffee is filling the air and Jim’s body suddenly decides that he hasn’t eaten in far too long.

His legs are, thankfully, steady as he trudges down the hall. All except for the galley lights are off, casting everything outside of the kitchen in a dim, half illuminated haze. The floor is clear of clutter, for once, and Jim wonders if Silver thought to make his path easier.

The walk down the hall is more taxing than Jim expects. When he reaches the galley he doesn’t even respond to Silver’s greeting, just collapses onto his back in the booth, legs hanging over the side, and groans while rubbing at his eyes.

“Can’t handle a little high, Jimbo?” Silver laughs from the kitchen.

Jim growls, moving his hands to his forehead and glaring at the ceiling. 

“If you tell anyone about this…” He says, sitting up to clearly direct his annoyance.

Silver holds up a hand, placating even as the teasing smirk stays in place. 

“Don’t got a thing to worry about. Not gonna begrudge ye a little fun.” He pauses, then turns back to Jim. 

“But if you’re this hungover after the fact…” 

“Fuck off. I’d have been just fine if my mom didn’t come home early.” He scoffs.

“Can’t seem to handle yerself much during, either.” Silver remarks. Jim can’t see his face like this, but he just _knows_ he’s laughing at Jim’s expense. 

“So I got a stronger batch this time, whatever.” He argues. “That’s my fucking dealer’s fault, not mine.” 

“Ye’d think it was yer first time, way ye were carrying on.” Silver continues, apparently happy to tease Jim endlessly. 

“I wasn’t _that_ high, shut up.” 

Silver finally turns around and looks at Jim. He’s smiling like he’s thinking of a fond memory from his childhood, not the punk kid he’s supposed to be keeping an eye on turning up high as a kite. 

“Never seen anyone that giggly, even their first time. Was an awful cute look for ye.” 

He’s still laughing, but the younger man can’t think past the middle of the final statement. 

“Cute?” Jim asks, trying to battle back the flush that tries to flood his cheeks. 

“Mm.” Silver hums, what Jim assumes to be a yes. “Like watchin’ a kitten get into the catnip bag.” 

Jim comes back down from the frantic spiral of thoughts very abruptly. A kitten. Silver likened him to a _kitten._ He wants to be offended, but the simple misdirection from what Jim had assumed he meant sends a dose of pure relief into his veins. At least, he thinks it’s relief.

It has to be, right?

Silver chooses that moment to walk out on deck, and Jim sits at the counter, catching his breath. His heart rate still feels a little funny, and he’s going to sleep good tonight, but the worst of it is over. 

He stands and makes his way on deck. The boat is swaying lightly under his feet still, but he’s confident that’s entirely thanks to the ocean and has nothing to do with his balance being compromised. 

Jim had followed Silver out with the intention of helping him with whatever he’s doing, but it very quickly becomes clear that Silver does not need Jim’s help, and that he couldn’t do a damn thing if he did anyway. 

The crates of repair supplies they’ve been getting recently are fucking heavy. Like, fifty pounds _each_ kind of heavy. Jim can barely get one onto the ship without having to stop halfway, and he’s scrawny but he’s no wimp. He knows him and Silver aren’t remotely in the same weight class, but he’d felt confident until now that he could probably hold his own in a real fight.

Silver is carrying two of the crates, one under each arm. Contrary to what Jim would’ve expected, the mechanical one seems to be operating much better under the strain, needing to be adjusted less often then the flesh left hand. Not that Silver is struggling, because he’s not. He’s making this look easy. He’s carrying around two thirds of Jim’s bodyweight like Jim carries the ten pound bags of potatoes his mom buys.

He tells himself that his newfound fascination is because he’s terrified, because the reminder of how much stronger than him Silver is functions as a wake-up call to mind himself. He’s intimidated, that’s why he keeps sneaking glances when Silver isn’t looking.

He sets himself to work on deck, cleaning up the clutter from the past few days. The mess isn’t nearly as uncurated as the first day, which means he spends more time than he really has an excuse to idling around, losing his train of thought every time Silver walks by with another load of supplies. 

He’s re-sorted the same two ropes three times before he’s snapped out of his haze by a sharp, acrid smell. 

Jim was used to the smell of cigarettes, growing up. Smoke meant his father was around, somewhere, usually on the porch. Smoke was the smell of Leland’s coat, the one Jim would wrap himself up in when he was away, or the scent that would cling to his hair after the tired man got home and patted him absentmindedly on his way to bed. His mother never liked it, and it was one of the few things she would chastise Leland about, telling him not to smoke in front of their kid. Nothing ever came of it, though Jim doesn’t know if it was stubbornness on his father’s part or resignation on his mothers. 

After he left, the smell vanished. Jim tried to chase it, at first. He would hang around outside the town gas station, part of him hoping that Leland would stop there on his way home, pick up a pack and smoke one outside, let Jim know he was on his way. Sometimes someone else would get the same kind Jim knows his father did, and he would stand around the corner and breath in the smoke, pretending like he wasn’t hoping for his father to turn the corner and scold him for doing something so reckless. He’d tried to buy them, a couple times. Two fake IDs and a police report later, and Jim decided he hated the smell. 

It’s not the one he’s used to, the tobacco, but there’s more of it than he usually smells. Most of the time he’s catching the barest whiff on the wind, and even that makes his hackles go up, but now it can’t be more than a dozen feet away.

Jim turns, searching for the source, and his stomach twists into a knot when he sees Silver. He’s leaning his arms onto the rail at the helm, clear across the deck from Jim. There’s a pipe held between the thumb and curled forefinger of his left hand, and he’s pulling from it occasionally. 

The smell of the smoke that’s drifting over to Jim is different enough to notice, now that he’s thinking about it. It’s herby, smoother and less like the stuff he’s used to, but it still puts a sour taste in Jim’s mouth, one that has nothing to do with the smoke itself. 

All of the pleasant feelings he’d been having shutter, then. Jim feels his eyes harden and his mouth twist into a bitter snarl. It’s stupid, he knows that, there’s no reason for Silver to know about his associations, especially since he hasn’t said a word to the man about his father.

Jim knows better than to storm off into the ship, if only because that’s bound to draw Silver’s attention and he doesn’t want to look at the man right now. Still, his footfalls are loud and heavy with anger where he rushes down the stairs.

He closes the door to the interior of the ship behind him, turning sharply at the bottom of the stairwell and going into the machine room, intent on getting a head start on his duties in here. Silver had told him yesterday that he’d been having trouble with the bottom panel on the generator, and this is as good a task as any to keep him busy. 

For better or worse, the isolation doesn’t last long. Jim manages to get the plate off the bottom and crawl on his back under the electrical generator before the unmistakable sound of Silver entering the cabin makes him tense up. He listens, not sure if he wants the comfort of his company or if he’d rather stick his fingers down his throat to rid himself of the smokey smell still clinging to the inside of his mouth.

Ultimately, he doesn’t have a choice. The door opens, more light spilling in, brightening everything, underside of the generator included. Jim looks down over his stomach and between his bent knees once, spotting the lower half of Silver before he snaps his eyes back to the metal his palms are braced on. 

He expects the herby scent to fill the room, but all he can smell is the salt and mist of the ocean, with maybe some dust and old grease from where his head is resting on the floor. Silver doesn’t say anything, like he somehow knows Jim needs the silence to process, so they sit like that for a while. Long enough that Jim is only sort of pretending to work anymore.

Finally Jim reaches a stalemate. He can’t make any actual progress without the flashlight on the floor by his ankles, and much as he’s loathe to reach for it, he’s scared of Silver asking why he’s stalling even more.

He twists his upper body to the side, just enough to peer down the length of his body and spot the object. With nothing else for it, Jim reaches for it, keeping his head and face underneath the generator. 

Even straining, he can barely tap the end with his fingers. Jim huffs, annoyed and hot in the face now, and tries again. This time he braces his other hand on the edge of the machine, pulling himself down until he can almost get his fingers around the handle. 

Something moves, and Jim freezes in place, unsure what to do as Silver scoops up the light from the floor and places into Jim’s hand, holding long enough for the younger man’s fingers to close around it before he lets go and returns to his position. 

The metal and plastic feels heavy, in his hand. Heavier than it should. This is an acknowledgement, he realises. Silver noticed him acting weird, and this is some strange, morse code way of getting the boy to chill out. 

Without either of them saying a word, the air in the room softens. Not enough for Jim to feel comfortable coming out from his hiding place, but enough that he can start to actually work on fixing the generator now.

The silence that fills the next couple of minutes is amicable. The only indication Jim has that Silver is in the room at all is the knowledge of his presence and the rare moments when he’s reaching for a tool and it lands in his hand, already warm from being held against human heat.

The buzz of his phone splits the quiet in the room, enough that Jim actually feels a little relief towards it. It’s calm, true, but he just knows Silver is waiting until he’s done to ask why he vanished from on deck all of the sudden.

Jim wriggles out from under the generator, not looking at Silver as he’s reaching for his phone where it’s vibrating slowly across the floor, the light from the screen visible in thin lines from where it’s laying facedown.

He turns it in his hand, and instantly his relief vanishes. It isn’t his mother calling him, or Amelia. The number isn’t saved, but it’s familiar to him nonetheless. The area code is telling enough, even if he didn’t remember the digits following it after one too many accidental pickups. 

He jams his finger into the “decline” button after just two rings, swiping harshly to silence the buzzing and vanish the unsaved number from his sight. 

Jim just barely restrains himself from chucking the offending object at the wall, but it still clatters less than gently to the floor when he tosses it away from him. The scowl now darkening his face stays in place as he falls onto his back with a thud, crawling underneath the generator again with the speed of someone desperate to distract themselves. 

Even actively avoiding looking at the man, Jim still sees Silver taking in his actions. His face is cool and unreadable and Jim is more than ready to go back to not acknowledging him again, but apparently he isn’t willing to let it slide. 

“Someone ye know?” Silver asks, lightly. 

“None of your business.” Jim growls, before he can think to check his tone. He winces, realising too late he forgot himself, but Silver doesn’t react. He stays silent, which might actually be _worse,_ Jim realizes. 

He drops his hands from the bottom of the machinery, letting out a sigh as his palms come to rest on his stomach. He can’t see Silver like this, which makes it honestly easier to open his mouth. 

“Sorry.” He mumbles. 

Silver doesn’t say anything, but Jim hears the sound of faint movement that means he hasn’t gotten up and walked away yet. He debates with himself, right hand idly picking at the cuticles on his left. He noticing a screw on the bottom of the generator that’s coming loose. 

“Sometimes Leland gets it in his head he wants to reconnect, to ‘spend time with his son’. Usually after one of his girlfriends breaks up with him.” He pitches his voice low at the last part, muttering.

Jim thinks he hears Silver exhale, and wonders if it’s a sigh, and then he wonders what about. Is he annoyed at the thought of Leland? Or maybe he’s tired of putting up with Jim. 

“Not interested in humoring him?” Silver asks.

Anger pulses through him at that. Jim puts his hands on the edge of the generator and shoves himself out from under it, snarling. His shirt rides up in the process, and he’s probably going to have to wash it later, but he doesn’t care.

“He ran away across the country and sent mom divorce papers in the mail. It’s a little late for him to start caring now.” He snaps.

Jim realises too late that he’s directing his anger at Silver again, but the man doesn’t look offended. His gaze is soft, even sympathetic, if Jim wanted to call it that, and he kind of does, for some reason.

Jim picks at his nails again.

“You wanna know why I was raiding your boat? Blame it on him. If he didn’t run off to California mom wouldn’t have to pawn shit just to stay in the black.” 

He doesn’t want to look at Silver. This is heavy shit even for Jim, who is mostly used to it by now. He pulls his shirt down over his stomach, tucking it back into his pants just to have something to do with his hands. 

Jim finally chances a glance over his body at Silver, and finds him regarding the phone partway across the room from them both. He notices for the first time how close they are, like this. Silver is leaning against the wall opposite where Jim is working, and now that he’s shimmied out from underneath the thing it’s harder to pretend he isn’t there.

They’re still a good foot apart, but for some reason even that proximity makes Jim feel… twitchy. He wants to do something, but he doesn’t know what. The urge to move is nearly unbearable but he’s scared to get up and run away like he normally would. 

He sits up, resting his arms on his knees. It doesn’t feel any less high stakes, for some reason, even though he doesn’t have to tip his head back nearly as far to look at Silver’s face. 

“Sorry, lad.” 

Jim picks his head up from where it had been hanging between his arms. He blinks up at Silver, finding that the older man is leaning forward a bit now, eyes fixed on Jim. 

He’s never felt so small, sitting on the floor like this. Or so lonely. Jim looks away, shrugging, pretending like he’s unbothered. 

“Hey, not like I care. I’m glad he’s gone.” He says, glaring at his phone where it’s still lying on the floor. It’s a lie. They both know it, but Silver doesn’t call him out. 

He pushes off from the wall, and Jim scoots back to give him space, but the hand that’s extended towards him give him pause. 

“C’mon. Think ye deserve a break.” 

Jim wants to disagree. He showed up high and had to be left to sober up for who knows how long before he could get any work done.

Still, he follows Silver out to the galley, scooping up his phone on the way. He wonders if this is an excuse to give him a lecture, or for Silver to shove him outside into the cold, but the older man just guides him to the table and brings over two steaming mugs.

The silence continues, as they sit, both nursing a cup of coffee. As the time wears on it starts to feel less like a burden, more like a weighted blanket. Heavy around them still, but warm and comforting. Companionable. 

Jim takes a break from staring out the window to watch Silver, really analyse him the way he hasn’t done since that night they first met. 

He doesn’t look that different. In fact, he doesn’t look different at all. Aside from some things that Jim knows had to have been tricks of the light, he’s exactly the same man who’d yanked Jim out of his pantry like a disobedient puppy. It seems anticlimactic, for things to have changed so dramatically between them but have no outward indicator of it. 

“Why didn’t you turn me in?” He asks, whisper quiet as his voice fails him.

Silver hears him all the same. He turns to look at Jim, and for the first time he can recall something dark shadows his expression. It’s such a wild departure from anything he’s used to that Jim sits up a little, the back of his neck prickling with fear. 

The tension abates as Silver looks back out the window, sighing. He looks tired, but the cold emptiness behind his eyes has vanished. 

“Can’t tell ye how many times I would’ve given anything for jus' one more chance to do things right.” He looks at Jim, and there’s pain there, in his eyes, and regret. Enough to make the younger man’s heart twist. “Figured if I can do as much for you, might keep ye from makin’ some’a the mistakes I did.” 

Jim doesn’t really have anything to say to that. _“Thank you,”_ isn’t remotely enough, and _“I’m sorry,”_ feels just as inadequate. He’s out of his depth here, once again reduced to an inexperienced teenager trying to find common ground with an adult, but the sting is lessened somewhat by the fact that they’ve just been digging through his own baggage. 

With no words, Jim decides to take a leap of faith.

He puts his coffee down and scoots to the adjoining side of the bench, moving so conspicuously that Silver has to know what he’s doing, but he’s not acknowledged at any point in the process. That itself is almost enough to discourage Jim, but he presses on past the doubt. 

When he reaches the edge nearest to Silver he settles back down, dragging his cup over and leaning his elbows on the tabletop. Hesitantly, fully aware he could be crossing a line, he nudges the other man’s elbow with his own. He peeks up at Silver after, who is now regarding him levelly, his chin resting on one hand while the other is still wrapped around his own cup. 

“Thanks.” Jim mumbles, face burning and feeling even more awkward than before, now. This was stupid, why did he think this was a good idea?

The self deprecating mental tirade is cut short by Silver’s exhale, and the arm that settles around his shoulders. Jim feels like he notices everything in that second, like all of his senses are heightened. The metal and internal wiring brushing the back of his neck. The weight of it, power and strength the likes of which he can barely match on a good day, and the sheer _size._ He doesn’t know why it feels like a new discovery, he’s known this from the first second they met, but still he’s shocked that Silver’s palm on his opposite shoulder is large enough to cover all the way down to mid-bicep. 

He’s pulled sideways, just slightly, into a side hug that he finds himself relaxing into easier than he thinks he probably should. It’s not long, a few seconds and Silver rubs his arm again and releases him back to sit normally again, but Jim catches himself wishing it would go on longer. It feels nice, having that arm around him. It’s not as alien as he would have expected, from something that he knows is artificial. The way Silver moves Jim almost forgets he’s not wholly flesh and bone, sometimes. 

“Ah, couldn’t have ye gettin’ into trouble without putting in a good word, could we?” He says, good humor already returning. Jim shakes his head and shoves at his arm where it’s still close to him, but he’s smiling as he looks away. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He mutters, sipping from his coffee to try and hide the warm blush covering his face. Jim tries not to think about how frequently that’s been happening lately.

* * *

For how exhausted he’d been after his ill fated high, Jim would have expected that he’d be asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow tonight. 

No luck. Apparently he’d gotten plenty of rest while he was sleeping off the drugs in Silver’s cabin. As nice as that nap had been, he really kind of needs the sleep _now,_ seeing as he has to be awake and ready to actually work tomorrow, and he’s not sure Silver is going to take the weed excuse for two days in a row.

Normally when he’s struggling to sleep like this, Jim would go take a walk around the docks outside, see if there’s anything worth scavenging while he’s up to no good anyway. But he really doesn’t want to get caught by Silver again. There aren’t a whole lot of good reasons to be caught skulking around in the wee hours. Also, admittedly, he’s kind of scared his sticky fingers will take over and get him into even deeper trouble. 

So that’s out. He could try and toke up again, if he wanted to, but mom’s room is just down the hall from his, and she sleeps with her window open this time of year. One stray breeze and he’s caught just like that, and smoking with the window closed is definitely not an option. 

Jim flops onto his back, shoving the blankets down. It’s a warm night, mid August and humid as all hell, so he’s in just his boxer briefs instead of any actual sleep clothes. The sweat is still collecting behind his knees and in the small of his back, annoyingly. 

Sighing, Jim closes his eyes. He stretches his legs out, settling his hands on his stomach as he steers himself into the right mindset. 

He thinks of the girls from school. Thin, pale skin, long pretty hair. He thinks of their hands, well maintained, slim fingers sliding down his chest, over his belly and then further. His own hand copies the movement and Jim’s brow furrows at the feeling. He bites his lip, sitting up briefly to spit into his hand and stifling a groan as it dives into his underwear. 

In seconds his cock is filling out in his grip. He shoves his underpants down, kicking them off onto the bed as he strokes. Patience has never been his strong suit, especially when it comes to this, so he doesn’t feel particularly bad as his motions speed up to his normal tempo quickly. This is just a route thing anyway, he just needs the extra help to get to sleep. 

Two minutes pass, then five, then eight. By the ten minute mark Jim is hard enough to hurt but every time he tries to conjure an image that will make him finally lose control his focus drops off and he fixates on the crack in his ceiling, or the waves crashing into the rocky beach outside. 

He growls, yanking his hand away. This isn’t working. If he goes on like this much longer he’s going to be working with more friction than is healthy. 

His fall-back plan makes Jim bite his lip again, but this time he worries the flesh with a blossom of shame in his belly. It’s dumb, there’s no reason for him to be this shy about his own tendencies, but being a boy in highschool means he’s used to hearing a lot of pointed words thrown around. He’s not keen to earn any of them, even in the safety of his own room.

But he’s not getting off anytime soon without it, and there’s no way he’s winding down after that warm up. 

Slowly, bordering on reluctant, Jim turns to the other thoughts, the ones he tries to push down and ignore. The glimpses of other boys he’s seen, in the locker rooms and at the urinals. He’s not trying to peep, he’s not _that_ stupid, but he’s seen enough to know what makes his thighs tense up in anticipation.

Chests, toned with muscle. Not the bulky, musclebound bodybuilders he’s seen in magazines. The kind of strength that’s soft and smoothed down around the edges, that’s what he pictures. He thinks about water running between his imaginary partner’s pectoral muscles, maybe as they’re sitting over top of him. 

Yeah, that’s working. Already his dick is twitching eagerly. Jim spits into his hand again, just for good measure as he resumes pumping in slow, even strokes. He imagines the water droplets trailing lower, over rippling abs, dripping onto an obvious bulge in underwear not unlike his own. 

Jim whimpers, biting his tongue and rolling his hips into his hand. He thinks about arms, defined muscles twitching and moving as rough, calloused fingers trace over his stomach and chest. Maybe one reaches up and rubs at his nipple, teasing him with it while the other drags through his hair. 

He’s so deep in the writhing, tortuous pleasure that when his thoughts take a different turn he barely even notices. 

One hand, just one, he pictures. The thumb curled over gripping his right hip hard, thick fingers digging into his back punishingly until he goes still, mewling for more. Then the touch would massage at him, apology and reward all at once. The other would splay over his chest, cool and hard and unlike it’s twin but just as pleasurable when it pinches and rubs at the most sensitive parts of his upper body. 

Jim is shaking, right on the cusp of coming, but he needs something else. One more thing to send him over the edge. He scrambles for anything, stimulation that will make him come as blindingly hard as he wants to, hand still working quick between his legs. 

“Please, c’mon…” He whisper-pants to nobody, desperate. 

He doesn’t know where it comes from, the words. All he knows is that something gravelly and hungry purrs _“_ _Good boy”_ from the edges of his subconscious and he’s coming harder than he ever remembers. Jim doesn’t even think to spill into his hand and keep from making a mess like he normally would, he just lets it puddle onto his heaving stomach as he shivers through the aftershocks of his orgasm, still pulling feebly at his dick to milk every last second from the pleasure. 

It’s a full minute of panting later that Jim’s spine tenses. His body goes rigid, mouth opening in shock and a wave of embarrassment bringing his fist to his mouth. He’s used to a bit of shame after this kind of release, but this is a whole new level of regret. 

There’s no denying it, he jerked off thinking of Silver. His friend, his mentor, a guy he’s known for two weeks _tops,_ and who’s been nothing but paternal to him in that time. _God,_ could he get any more fucked up?

Sleep is suddenly the last thing on his mind. Jim stands up, cringing as his legs are wobbly from the strength of his orgasm. He couldn’t just come either, he had to come so hard he nearly blacked out from it. He flicks on the light in his room, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and rushing down the hall to the shower, face red and eyes darting around like he’s a homicide suspect on the run. 

He locks the door and turns the water as cold as it will go, hoping his mom is asleep enough not to come and check on him. The last thing he needs right now is her trying to have a conversation with him while he’s battling back a mental breakdown.

Jim strips and goes to step into the spray, chickening out at the last minute and turning it back to just lukewarm. He pointedly looks at the ceiling as he rinses his stomach, flinching at the cold on the sensitive flesh between his thighs but not backing up. This is punishment just as much as it’s a way to calm down.

The running water clears his mind, a bit, even if his knees are still mostly made of jelly instead of something logical like bone and muscle. A fraction of the stress abates and Jim relaxes, allowing himself to rest his head against the wall. He hisses as the water hits his back, sliding down like ice even though it’s not nearly as cold as it could be.

Maybe this isn’t as bad as he thinks it is, Jim reasons. So what if he jerked off to the thought of Silver? The amount of weird porn he’s seen browsing the internet makes him pretty confident that isn’t the oddest fantasy he could have. And it’s not like he hasn’t thought of other people he knows that way before. Sure, they were his classmates at school and not the guy supervising his new parole activities, but it can’t be that weird, right? Silver is the only person he’s seen with any regularity in the past weeks anyway. 

Proximity, that’s it. Jim has just been spending too much time around him, so much that his presence crept into the back of his head. If he gets some alone time he’ll be just fine. School is starting back up in a week anyway, once that happens he’ll go right back to drooling over girls like a normal boy. 

That thought is what finally allows Jim to step out of the shower and go to bed, assured that this had to be a one time thing. A fluke, a mistake, something that will not happen again, and that he won’t think about anymore.


	3. Falling Off the Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim gets his hopes up.

Facing Silver is harder, after that.

It’s even worse than the first day. At least then they were sort of on the same page. Jim knows Silver is going to have some serious questions if he just stops showing up, so he keeps going, hoping the awkwardness will fade with the memory of his transgression. 

Something in the universe has to be looking out for Jim, because it does. The first morning he’s quiet and contemplative, but after a few days of overthinking they start to fall back into a rhythm, and the camaraderie returns. It’s easy again, so much that Jim is actually kind of annoyed about school starting up. He’s starting to enjoy spending his time with Silver, to the point where he sometimes waits around after all his chores are done just to sit in the galley and banter.

If his mom notices him skipping out on his “days off”, she doesn’t say anything. She knows where he’s going, and she doesn’t correct him when he says he’s heading to the docks in the morning. The first real day he spends at home is the one right before school is due to start up, and that is spent oiling his bike back up to par so he can ride it in the next morning. 

School is, as usual, a pain. With the start of the new semester, part of Jim holds out hope that maybe this year will be different, maybe the summer has been dramatic enough to turn a new leaf over for him. 

He’s proven wrong, and he really wonders why he even bothered. All the same shitty teachers are still here, all the same asshole teenagers who look at him weird when he rides over the dirt trail between his house and the school building. At least he’s a senior this year. There’s only so much power these people hold over him anymore, and he doesn’t have to worry about upperclassmen deciding to pick on the scrawny loner kid.

He still spends his weekends and most afternoons on the ship, but between school itself and the mounting pile of homework, he’s rapidly running out of time, patience, and energy to do anything more than exist in the same room as Silver. 

Jim doesn’t mention it, for fear of jinxing his one drop of good luck, but he’s sure Silver is going easier on him now. The man was never cruel, he always gave Jim clear instructions and praised or corrected him as appropriate, but the tasks he’s given seem more benign, lately. 

His first instinct with the sudden slack is to run away. To finish his chores as quickly as possible and then dash up to the inn with the excuse of homework, but the more he does that the more he looks up to mention something to Silver offhand, only to find that he’s not there. 

Jim doesn’t like the feeling of talking to an empty room. He drags his backpack down the hill with him one day, almost hesitant, but Silver doesn’t comment. After all of his work with the boat is done he settles down at the booth, digging into his homework without a word, but peeking nervously up at Silver when he enters the room. Jim is aware he’s kind of pushing his luck, but when the older man passes him on the way to the storeroom he ruffles his hair, and that seems like permission.

He starts doing just the little things, the readings, the stupid worksheets. Then he lets himself work on the longer-form assignments. Soon Jim is completing all of his work right there, to the point where his mother asks him if he’s actually getting his work done, being away so often. He tells her yes, he is, with only a little bit of sass in his tone. It’s not an unwarranted suspicion, but Silver is more than willing to let him do his assigned work before giving him any extra duties. 

It’s working out to be a good deal for both of them, apparently, because Silver hasn’t mentioned it once even as he’s picking up the slack. He’s being very amenable to this change, so much that Jim is actually kind of suspicious. Things never go this well for him. 

He’s sitting at the table, taking a break in his work and using that to scrutinize Silver where he’s washing some dishes.

“So you’re just kind of… okay with this?” He asks out of the blue. 

The older man straightens up and turns to him, not saying anything.

“This.” Jim clarifies, gesturing at himself and the small mess of paperwork on the table. “Me. Doing other shit when I’m supposed to be helping you.” 

“Far as I reckon I’m jus’ supposed to keep an eye on ye, keep ye out of trouble. Never was much concerned with what it was ye did.” He says with an easy smile, turning back to the soapy water.

Jim squints.

“So you don’t care that I’m just sitting here?” 

A sigh, and Silver turns to face him properly, instead of talking over his shoulder like he’d been doing. 

“Ye’d rather be scraping the hull of barnacles?” He eyes Jim sharply enough that he begins to regret drawing so much attention to it. Too good to be true is starting to feel very accurate. 

Silver smirks at him suddenly, and Jim realises too late that he’s being teased. He huffs, looking away and huddling down in his jacket. 

“Nah, Jimbo. Don’t much mind at all. If we’re bein’ honest lad, ‘s nice havin’ another living being around. Makes the place feel a bit more alive.” 

That is not what Jim had prepared for. He blushes, sinking deeper into his coat and holding a piece of paper way too close to his face to try and hide the pink on his cheeks. Silver turns back to whatever he was doing, apparently sensing that the informal interrogation is finished.

“Me too.” Jim finds it in him to mutter back, several minutes later. Silver doesn’t reply, but he pauses in his own work long enough that Jim knows he’s been heard.

* * *

It’s a month into the semester, and Jim is starting to buckle under the strain. He’s wracked with tension and sleep is a luxury for him now, and his mood is turning as slowly and steadily as the weather. It’s only getting colder, the fall slipping in and the leaves blanketing the ground more than the trees. 

He’s spending his Friday afternoon working on a midterm essay, an analysis of a depressing book about a bunch of kids stuck on an island. He’d started working in his room, scribbling lazily, but it’s too easy to get distracted there. He told his mom he was going to do something for Silver, ignoring that he’s carrying his bag and that it’s nearer to nighttime than afternoon, and she didn’t say anything to stop him. 

He’d kind of assumed the man would be here, only because he has no idea where the hell else he goes, but Silver is absent, so Jim is completely alone when he settles down to work. He lets himself be a little disappointed, with that. He’d been hoping for some tacit presence to motivate him to focus.

It’s unclear whether it’s the isolation or the location itself that helps, but either way Jim manages to stumble into concentration. His pencil is moving as fast as it’s ever done, and he’s scratching words out rather than turn it over and erase them just to keep up the momentum as long as he possibly can. 

The faint evening sun fades, and then the remaining light, but all Jim does throughout is get up to turn on the LED bulbs and close the door at the top of the stairs to retain as much heat as possible. He’s found that strange liminal space where work gets done and done well without much effort, and he’s loathe to leave it even as the clock ticks over past ten pm. 

Somewhere around eleven his eyes start to itch, and the hand gripping his pencil feels like it’s going numb. He has graphite smudged all down the side of his right hand, but he rubs his eyes with his left and soldiers on. He’s nearly at the ten page mark, and then he can stop. 

He finishes writing his conclusion, unsure if it even makes coherent sense at this point, and he rubs his eyes so hard he feels tears well up in them. The ache in them intensifies as he peers up at the light above him, unforgiving and stark. 

It’s gotten cold, at some point. He glances at the clock and yawns, stretching his fingers and listening to them crack with a grimace. He needs to get home. Mom will be worried about him, he’s not normally out this late unless he’s already up to no good. 

His eyes won’t focus though. Which is an issue, especially if he’s supposed to pick his way home along the docks in the pitch darkness. His phone flashlight isn’t that powerful, and he’s not excited for the trek up the hill either. 

Giving himself a minute won’t hurt, he reasons. He can close his eyes, rest his head on the table and wake up in a little while before he tries to head home.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but then, that’s how it usually goes. What is out of the ordinary is that Jim wakes up to someone smoothing a hand down his back, and warmth wrapped around him where he’s still resting his head on the table. 

He groans, confused and groggy. The light is fucking blinding and he’s so tired, what gives? 

“A’right, Jimbo. C’mon now.” He hears. The low rumble is soothing, so soft with affection that when a hand pulls him out from the booth and scoops him into a warm body he doesn’t argue or fight. The hand on his back holds him up and another wraps behind his knees, and he drags what feels like a thick blanket with him as he’s lifted. 

He’s carried down the hall, into the darkness of the cabin, and all he does is let his head rest on the shoulder under his head. Sleep takes him immediately, so that he’s startled from his doze when he’s laid down on the bed. 

Jim tries to wake up, he really does. He knows this probably isn’t his bed, but it’s soft and he has a blanket all tucked around his body and he’s so,  _ so  _ comfortable. He gives up, dropping his head and all the tension in his body with it. Something cards through his hair, brushing it out of his face as he nuzzles down and curls into a ball.

“God, pup, what am I gonna do with ye?” The murmur fills the space, but Jim doesn’t hear it. He’s already out cold, mouth open and soft breaths escaping him in sleep. He doesn’t feel the last touch of Silver’s hand through his hair, or the way he pulls his coat up higher around the sleeping boy’s shoulders before he leaves.

* * *

This is becoming an inconvenient and embarrassing habit, waking up in Silver’s bed.

It’s even more annoying because Jim has even less idea of how he got here than he did last time. Last thing he remembers he was doing homework in the galley. A spike of dread lances through him, embarrassment and shame. Oh god, did he walk in here? What if Silver finds him? 

Jim sits bolt upright to leave, but is momentarily foiled by being wrapped very tightly in a mass of black fabric warm with his body heat, and that makes him pause. Because he definitely would remember that. That kind of thing would take some serious negotiating of his limbs to tuck them all into the bundle.

Another possibility worms it’s way into his mind, and Jim’s blush turns from faint and shameful to burning bright. Did… did Silver bring him in here? Did he _carry_ him?

The door is closed, and there’s sunlight filtering in, signalling a rare sunny day for this time of year. Somehow his face burns even hotter, and he takes a second after standing up to straighten his clothes. Some stupid part of him is relieved to see he’s still in everything he was wearing last night, down to the boots that he never quite grew into. The idea of Silver peeling him out of his jacket and socks sends a shock of something warm into his stomach, comfort and affection at the same time as it’s the memory of that night from before school started. He coughs, clearing his throat and rushing out into the galley.

Jim doesn’t really know what he was hoping to find, out in the kitchen, but whatever it was, Silver is the opposite. Ideally he would have liked to avoid the man altogether, but instead he skids to a halt at the end of the hall, frozen. Silver turns and spots him before he can flee, smiling.

“Slept in?” He asks, a crooked smirk on his face.

Jim runs a hand through his hair, wondering if it’s sticking up all funny like it usually does in the morning. 

“What happened last night?” He asks, too flustered to even bother with the bantering. It’s early anyway, he reasons.

Compliant to the change of topic, Silver turns back away from Jim and answers over his shoulder.

“Didn’t want to disturb ye, and it looked like ye needed the rest. Figured it were better to have ye settle in here then try an’ stumble back home at that hour.” He says, like it’s no big deal that Jim passed out and spent the night here.

Jim nods absently. His heart is going like he’s all hopped up on adrenaline, but he’s starting to calm down a little. 

“Oh  _ shit,  _ my mom’s gonna kill me. Where’s my phone?” He gasps, heart rate spiking again and suddenly wide awake as he pats down his pockets. 

Before he can work himself into too much of a panic, Silver taps the counter and draws Jim’s attention to his phone sitting there, looking as innocent as a device can. 

“Made sure she knew where ye were at an’ what was takin’ so long.” He looks over his shoulder at Jim again, and the warmth in his eyes is enough to soothe the boy all over again. “Wouldn’t let ye get an undeserved earful.”

“Thanks.” He says quietly, moving to sit at the table. He slides all of his homework into his bag, just to have something to do with his hands, and then he opens his phone to look at what Silver sent his mom. 

There’s nothing in their messages, and when he brings up his call history he can’t see anything there either. He blinks, confused, and then a realisation dawns on him.

“Do you... have my mom’s number?” He asks, slowly, eyes narrowing. 

Silver pauses, and then he faces Jim again with that same knowing grin. 

“Don’t be lookin’ at me like that Jimbo, that part was all her idea.” 

Jim glares, trying his best to look intimidating when he knows damn well he’s not. He ignores the thing in his belly that feels like jealousy, pretends that it’s just a protective instinct for the one person he’s closest to.

“Just saying, if you try anything…” He leans back, playing it like he’s being cool and menacing. Silver laughs hard, a sharp bark that slides into a hearty chuckle, and Jim feels like that’s maybe a bit of a slap in the face. His glare intensifies, but he stays silent.

“Don’t worry, lad, I’m not gonna try an’ move in on yer mum. Lovely as she is, not quite the sort I prefer anyway.”

Jim’s eyes go wide and he needs several seconds to collect himself again. It’s a good thing Silver is still too busy laughing to pay him any attention, because he’s just staring with a blush growing over his face the whole time. 

_ “Not quite the sort I prefer.”  _ That much is easy to translate; his mom isn’t Silver’s type. Which is fine by Jim, really, he’s not keen on the idea of them getting together for a couple reasons.

That does beg the question though, what - or who -  _ would  _ be Silver’s type?

Jim really hates the way his stomach flip-flops hopefully at the idea. It’s dumb. He’s a teenager - for another month, at least - and Silver is a grown adult. He doesn’t even know if the other man is into guys, much less a scrawny little shit who backtalks and gets into too much trouble for anyone’s good. Privately, he’ll admit he wants him to be, but that’s the kind of private that he only gets really late at night in his bedroom, when the lights are off and he can pretend like anything is possible.

Jim doesn’t say anything else, chewing his lip between his teeth and feeling contemplative. He picks up his bag and leaves, even though it’s the weekend and he’s technically supposed to be working today. Silver doesn’t stop him, just picks up his head to watch him go.

* * *

His mother comments on it when he starts spending more time at the inn again. There’s a hopeful lilt to her voice, at first, an unspoken question. As time wears on and he limits his time with Silver though, he sees the anxiety start to creep back in.

He doesn’t really know why he’s doing it. It’s not like things have changed between them. It was one offhand comment, Silver probably didn’t even mean anything by it. In fact, Jim is sure he didn’t. He’d bet almost anything Silver doesn’t even remember their conversation.

That’s the kicker though, isn’t it?  _ Almost. _ That tiny glimmer of hope, the one percent out of ninety-nine that he’s not sure about. It was easier to tell himself to forget it when he was sure Silver wasn’t interested. It wasn’t going to happen in a million years, he’s just a punk kid who happens to be a good surrogate son. There are no romantic feelings between them, none that are reciprocated, anyway. 

But Jim can’t get that line out of his head. The way Silver said  _ “Not quite the sort I prefer.” _ , smiling like he was making a private joke. It comes to him unbidden in the least convenient hours, like when he’s trying to sleep or pay attention in class, or when he’s sitting across the table from the man in those borderline domestic moments that are getting more and more common.

It’s frustration and anxiety that drives him to take his bike for a joyride one afternoon. He has the day off from school, the sun is shining as bright and warm as it can in mid-October, which is not very much for this far north.

Silver is out doing whatever the hell it is he does on his days off, and Jim has no responsibilities except to not get arrested today, on his mother’s orders. 

The trails are slick with dead leaves, but at least the ground is solid from the freeze that’s starting to seep into the dirt. Mud season is a major pain in the ass, and he’ll take harsher terrain over that any day. 

The shocks on his bike are as good as he could get them, after some heavy modifications, but that doesn’t stop him feeling every root driving up into his path. He’s going fast, faster than is probably safe, but that’s not out of ordinary for him. Jim likes this, the speed, the slight air he gets cresting the top of a hill, the trees whipping past and the steep dropoff to either side. His helmet is off, left at home to let him feel the crisp, icy breeze drawing it’s fingers through his hair. His cheeks are ruddy from the cold whipping his face, but he’s feeling calmer than ever. 

The feeling of control that comes from tearing down a winding path is unlike anything Jim has ever felt. One tiny jerk of his arm and he’s spinning the bike into a hairpin turn, eyes on the path and only the path. This is him at his finest, at his most controlled and alive.

Jim isn’t sure when he loses his focus. One moment he’s driving, practically flying with how much air he’s getting in the wake of the hills, the next he’s tumbling before he has time to correct. 

The adrenaline slams into him hard, enough that he doesn’t feel the impact as he hits the trail. His bike goes sideways and he has the sense to tuck into himself and roll to a stop instead of trying to put out a hand. The world still feels like it’s moving when he opens his eyes, but the thundering of his heart is comforting, in a weird way. He pats a hand against his chest, checks his own pulse with shaking fingers just to make sure he’s actually alive still. It’s hard to believe he survived that.

Jim sits up on the trail, but he doesn’t try to stand just yet. His legs feel numb, but not the kind that worries him. It’s the pins and needles kind of numb, the slump after his unpleasant high that means if he tries to get up now his limbs will refuse to support him and he’ll be deposited right back onto the ground. 

He scoots back and rests his spine against the upward slope to the left of the trail. He looks to the side and sees his bike, on it’s side and dirtied but nothing damaged. 

A harsh shiver washes over him, forcing him to feel every inch of his body, and in that second his chest and right shoulder both ache and sting painfully. The sensation is still dulled by adrenaline, but Jim knows he’s going to be feeling that in short order and he needs to get somewhere safe to regroup. 

He manages to ride home, at a much more sedate pace, this time. There’s no further spills, and nothing starts bleeding profusely on the way, but Jim is still pretty sure he’s at least bruised something monumentally by the time he’s rolling up on the inn. 

He’s more than ready to go collapse onto his bed, so the sight of his mother’s car in the driveway gives him pause from down the road. She’s home, and that means she’s going to see him going inside, jacket covered in leaves and probably limping a bit. 

He’s desperate to avoid her panicked reaction, even though he’s fine and really her freaking out about it at this stage is unwarranted. Desperate enough that he turns and makes his way to the docks instead. He leans his bike against the metal fence rimming the water’s edge and tries to look like he’s walking normally as everything under his right shoulder is prickling and screaming with pain. 

The boat is as empty as it had been that morning, and Jim breathes a sigh of relief. He grabs the scratched and dented medkit from the wall and rucks up his shirt, checking for any cuts as best he can without a mirror.

Jim lets himself be secretly kind of amazed, when he’s peering down at his body in the harsh light above the galley table. His jacket and shirt protected him from any thorns or twigs scraping him, and it really seems the worst of it is the bruising. Except, now that he thinks about it, cuts would be easier to deal with. Cuts he can slap some antiseptic on and call it a day, but the ache behind his muscles is a little harder to deal with himself. 

It doesn’t help that he’s smudged with dirt and leaf litter, either. His shirt rode up when he fell, and every place where he impacted has a dark mark on it, and it’s hard to tell what’s blood rushing to the skin and what’s just the forest floor leaving its bootprint on him.

Before he can make the trudge up the hill, the unmistakable sound of Silver moving down the stairs pulls Jim from his stupor staring at his own chest. He tugs his shirt down, leaving it untucked from his pants as Silver reaches the bottom and pauses, clearly surprised to see him. 

“Jimbo. Didn’t think ye were gonna show today.” He says as he moves toward the pantry. He has a milk crate filled with plastic gallons of water, which he sets inside and dusts off his hands before turning back to the boy still poised half sitting on the table. 

He stops, and Jim winces as he looks the younger man up and down carefully, no doubt taking in the mess of dirt and moss clinging to his shirt and pants. Jim also becomes aware of a dark spot on his cheek then, just visible in his peripheral vision. He rubs at it, trying to look less like he rolled halfway down a mountain, with limited success.

“What happened to you  _ now  _ lad?” Silver asks. He sounds confused and exasperated, like he’s not sure how Jim managed to mess himself up this badly. 

Jim winces again, but something warm and soft wraps around his heart at the words. Worry. Silver is  _ concerned _ about him. He takes a step towards the boy, and in the small space that's all he needs to do be nearly toe to toe with Jim. They’re standing a foot apart, and Silver closes the distance even further with a comforting, inquiring hand on his shoulder.

“I fell off my bike.” He mutters, rubbing his neck and looking at the stairs as he continues. “It’s not a big deal, it happens all the time.”

He goes to shrug, instinct to play off the hurt as nothing important, but a sharp pain in his side makes him gasp and buckle into the table. Holy  _ fuck  _ that hurts, a lot more than it did when he came down here, he’s sure. 

Silver’s hand goes to the dip of Jim’s waist, like he’s going to catch him if he collapses, and he has to fight the urge to fake it just to see what would happen. His touch is light and gentle, and for a heartbeat Jim can ignore the pain and lean into it.

And then Silver presses, his fingers digging into the space under Jim’s arm and the pain returns again, sharper. He hisses, jerking away and making himself yelp as he twists and grinds the hurt deeper into his ribcage. Silver lets him go, and Jim stumbles a few feet away before leaning back against the galley counters like a cornered stray, complete with wide eyes and a heaving chest. 

Silver’s expression darkens. He stands taller and advances on Jim by a few steps, regaining the lost distance easily as the boy is struggling to breathe. 

“Lad?” He murmurs, voice gentle in deep contrast to his posture. He moves between Jim and the stairs as if to cut off his escape, like he expects he could even limp right now much less run. 

“Let me see, Jim.” He asks, as he steps closer. He’s close enough to pin Jim to the counter, if he wanted. If he weren’t aching and wary of moving, Jim would be flushing hard enough to start bleeding from his nose. 

“I’m fine.” Jim gasps, flinching hard as the intake of breath renews the agony. 

The shadow of concern on Silver’s face finally turns harder, less compromising. 

“That could be a broken rib, Jim. If yer hurtin’ that bad-” 

“I said I’m fine!” He snaps, then instantly regrets it. Not just for the needle of hurt that pricks his lung, either. The way Silver narrows his eyes makes him shrink back even more, but instead of grabbing him he just crosses his arms and leans back against the counter opposite Jim.

“A broken rib’s nothing to sniff at.” He starts again, his gaze warning Jim not to interrupt this time. “If that hurts half’s much as I think it does, you’d be best off headin’ for the hospital ‘fore anything goes wrong.” 

“It’s not a broken rib, and I don’t need a hospital.” Jim argues. His left hand comes up to cradle his side protectively, and he leans away from Silver as he favors his shoulder. A lump of anxiety has lodged in his throat, placed the second he heard the word “hospital”.

Silver doesn’t look convinced. He shoves off from the counter and moves toward Jim again, placing his fingers at the sore spot and making the boy shout. Tears spring to his eyes as the pain doubles, and he jerks away again more desperately. 

“Jimbo-” The older man looks angry, now, frustrated, but he stops as he’s cut off again.

“I can’t! I can’t go to the hospital, okay?!” His voice is cracked with desperation and fear, but he doesn’t stop. “Last time I got hurt we almost lost the inn, and the doctors wanted to separate us because I was all bruised up from riding my stupid bike!” 

Silver pauses, blinking at Jim as his mouth falls open. He still doesn’t stop talking.

“Mom can barely keep it together as it is,  _ please  _ Silver.”

The galley goes completely still in the wake of that outburst. Jim’s chest is hurting again from how hard he’s breathing, but he’s too wired up to let it stop him.

“I know what a broken rib feels like, and this isn’t it.” He pleads, quieter. “Silver, I’m  _ begging  _ you.  _ Please,  _ don’t make me go.”

He’s not sure if it’s the not so thinly veiled appeals or the coherent reasoning that makes Silver reconsider, but either way Jim gets what he wants. The older man takes a step back, giving him room to breathe and not feel so caged in. Secretly, Jim wants to tell him not to, but that part of him is buried deep and he’s too hurt to really care about it anyway.

Silver breathes hard through his nose. He’s still looking at Jim carefully, but the dam breaks as he rubs the corners of his eyes and the bridge of his nose in one motion. 

“At least let me have a look at it.” 

His voice is softer, more of a question and less of a demand. Slowly Jim comes down from the stress, and he nods. He still hesitates before he lifts up his shirt again. That shyness comes back, but he powers through and pulls up the hem to his chin, holding it there as he refuses to look at Silver. 

The older man drops to a knee to better assess the damage, his right hand settling on Jim’s hip while the other presses at different spots around his torso. The touch is too clinical to be exciting, thank god, and the twinge of pain as he moves towards the tender areas is enough to kill any and all romantic fantasies playing out in Jim’s head. 

“How bad is it?” He mumbles. 

Silver shakes his head, pulling back marginally and using his flesh hand to push Jim’s shirt further out of the way. 

“Hard to say.” He answers. “Can’t tell what’s dirt an’ what’s bruised.” 

Jim keeps his eyes down as the man backs away, rifling through the med kit again. He lowers his shirt, rubbing at his face with a hand that feels cold on his heated skin. He’s exhausted, all of the sudden. A nap sounds like a great idea right now. 

“Do us a favor an’ go wash up, will ye lad? Might give a better idea of what we’re up ‘gainst here.” 

“Wash up?” Jim asks. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m kinda dirty everywhere. I don’t think a little water is gonna help this.” He points at the place on his side where the dirt had scraped hard against his flesh, surely leaving grit in the wounds. 

“Got a shower back there, don’t I? Clearly ye didn’t hit yer head, if ye made it this far.” Silver asks, and now Jim is wide awake again. 

He freezes, vehement refusal on his tongue. Silver is still facing away from him, like this isn’t anything out of the ordinary he just suggested. But try as Jim might, he can’t think of a single good reason why he wouldn’t want to take the opportunity to rinse off. 

Swallowing his pride and anxiety both, Jim moves for the cabin as quickly as his aching side will allow. He shuts the bedroom door when he enters, flushing furiously, and then closes the bathroom door as well for good measure.

This is weird. Why is he doing this? Why is he just doing what Silver tells him? He never has any problems telling his teachers to fuck off, why the hell is Silver any different? 

He knows why, and it’s the same reason he has to close his eyes as he’s shucking out of his clothes. Just knowing that Silver is on the other side of the wall as he’s getting naked is enough to bring the memory of some half remembered dreams to his mind, and Jim only barely keeps himself from drawing blood with how hard his nails dig into his arm. 

The bathroom is small, but at least that means he doesn’t have any reason to linger in the shower. The spray is lukewarm, where it strikes his collarbones, but it sloughs off the grime as he leans against the shower wall behind him. He manages, somehow, not to get a hard on while he’s showering. He’s honestly kind of scared to look down, but when he steps out and has to pull his pants back on he’s unaffected by the cacophony of thoughts swirling around in his head.

Relief makes Jim feel a little better, as he’s shuffling out into the galley again. The semi-warm water was enough to draw some of the tension from his muscles, and now he’s more sleepy than he is sore.

He’s just finished ruffling a towel through the damp parts of his hair as he enters the light of the kitchen. It’s getting dark outside now, he notices, but then Silver is standing up and gesturing for Jim to sit on the table next to where he’s spread the parts that make up the ship's medical supplies.

“Take off that shirt for me.” Silver murmurs as Jim hops onto the wood, and the younger man swallows. The way he says it is so soft, warm as it falls from his mouth and Jim squeezes his legs together as a precautionary measure before he even starts undressing. 

His shoulder muscles pull uncomfortably as he pushes the bottom of his shirt over his head without fully removing it, and Jim is endlessly grateful for the pain keeping him grounded. Even still, his heart and his breathing both kind of fumble when Silver drags light fingertips over his sternum, where the black and blue is starting to show. 

“Looks like ye bruised it pretty bad.” He mutters. One finger taps Jim’s ribcage, so careful that the touch is barely even felt except for the small flash of pain it causes.

“Ow.” Jim says mulishly under his breath, trying to get his blush under control. This is just Silver checking up on him, he’s not even doing anything suggestive.

That thought abruptly goes out the window when he cups the younger man’s side in his palm, laying the warmth of his hand over the freshly cleaned skin. Jim startles and makes a noise, thankful when Silver seems to take it as pain and not him being flustered. The touch recedes somewhat, but it doesn’t go away entirely.

“Can’t feel anything broken, an’ I’m sure we’d know by now if it were.” He says, calm and confident as Jim is struggling to compose himself again. 

“Told you it was a bruise.” He still hisses, his mouth unable to keep from forming a tiny smirk as Silver levels him with a less than impressed stare. 

“Aye, well.” He lowers his head again to stare at Jim’s chest, which feels a lot more loaded when they both know the younger man is fine now. “Can’t blame a man for wanting to keep ye safe.” 

There’s something in the tone there that gives Jim pause. It sounds too melancholy to really be talking about a minor injury like this. Jim blinks and wonders, not for the first time, what Silver is thinking about as his eyes go to some far away place.

Silver’s hand is on Jim’s chest still, lingering just below the bruise. He said it himself, Jim is fine. There’s no reason for him to still be touching the boy, but he is. That can’t be an accident, can it? It has to be intentional.  _ “Silver feels it too.”  _ He thinks, lightheaded.  _ “He wants this too.” _

Jim swallows loud enough to be heard in the silence as it stretches. He’s never wanted anything so badly as he’s wanted Silver right this instant, but he’s scared. He’s shirtless on the table but that isn’t invitation enough for the older man and he isn’t sure how to make his intentions clear. 

His train of thought grinds to a halt as Silver’s hand moves again, sliding up his chest until the fingers are hooking slightly over his collarbones. The tension is mounting, higher and higher until Jim worries he’s going to be sick with it. 

His eyes are fixed on Silver’s face, but he’s still shocked to the core when the older man’s gaze finally lifts from his ribs and meets his own. Jim swears for half a second Silver is even looking at his mouth, but he can’t be sure and he’s left high strung on the uncertainty. 

_ “Damn it, just kiss me already!”  _ Jim wants to scream. He wants to fist his hands in Silver’s shirt and crash them together once and for all, but the fear of gentle hands pushing him away is enough to stall the impulse before his fingers can do more than twitch.

He’s hard. His dick is straining in his underwear and it’s only the resolute clench of his thighs that’s keeping him from visibly pitching a tent.  _ Fuck,  _ he’s gonna come in his pants if this keeps up much longer. The wild rush of chemicals in Jim’s brain drags him down a side trail, forcing him to contemplate what might happen if he did. Would Silver tease him about it? For Jim being so excited he goes off with barely a touch? Would he find it cute?

Everything is going a mile a minute at the same time as the seconds are dragging into hours. Jim is still staring up at Silver, who’s looking down at him with an unreadable expression in his eyes and his hand over the younger man’s heart. He’s sure Silver can feel it. It doesn’t even feel like it’s pounding anymore, every pulse is a harsh seizing of his chest and his blood is sluggish and hot where it’s running around his body.

Jim is scared for either of them to move, but something always has to break, and of course it’s him. 

Silver swallows too, a delayed echo of Jim’s own fears. The sight is too much and Jim moves, just lifting his leg by an inch, but that sparks everything into motion at once. His calf drags accidentally past Silver’s leg, his upper half falls forward by just a couple degrees, and his thighs part enough for his cock to strain upward against the crotch of his pants. The sudden, unexpected rub of cloth over his dick pulls a gasp from the bottom of his lungs, the sound pleading and sharp and cut off the instant he realises what has happened. 

Everything stops, for real this time. Silver shakes his head like he’s coming out of a daze and steps back, leaving Jim sitting on the table red faced and breathing hard. His hand retreats last, and Jim has never been more ashamed as he leans forward to chase the contact. The emptiness of the space in front of him is like that time he dove into the ocean in November, on a dare. All of Jim’s muscles lock up and he can’t breathe for several seconds, just stare with the knowledge that he’s made yet another massively stupid mistake. 

He doesn’t give Silver the chance to respond. Jim tugs his shirt back down and his feet hit the floor in quick succession as he runs. Silver doesn’t call after him or try to stop him as he flees up the hill into the waning daylight.

* * *

The next week rips by in a haze. Sarah notices, he knows she does, but for the life of him Jim can’t find the guts to explain why he’s not doing what he should be. 

He’s avoiding Silver, again, except this time he’s not even doing the chores he’s supposed to. He tells his mother that Silver just doesn’t need his help, when she pries. If she asks the other man about it, he must not contradict Jim’s half baked lie, because she leaves him be when he vanishes into his room for hours at a time. 

The nerves are getting to him. Jim’s sleep schedule, which had been less than fantastic before, has shot straight down to abysmal. Every moment with his eyes closed he sees the older man’s face, the look like he’s staring straight into Jim’s soul and seeing something he never expected to see. 

He knew Jim was hard. He  _ had  _ to have known, at least at the end. The faint, nervous sound of his throat working is seared into the younger man’s memory. The heat of his hand was so intense, so crisp and clear where it laid over Jim’s left breast that even days later he can still feel it like a burn. 

Jim broke two days in and jerked off to Silver again, only this time it wasn’t shame or satisfaction that settled in his bones after, it was longing. The fantasy is nice, but Jim can’t stop fixating on the all encompassing desire for more. He knows what Silver’s hand feels like, when it’s tracing his flesh, and he wants more. That taste of the one thing he can’t have is torture as it cajoles in his mind. 

It’s possible. The thing that Jim told himself last time, that this can’t happen, has been tipped on it’s side and his whole world feels like it’s fallen with it. He knows Silver wanted him, he was  _ sure  _ of it. The panic that drove him to run is still a mystery to him, several days later, but he is more sure than ever that if he had pushed Silver would have let him. 

The nerves make him jittery, twitchy. Jim spends several minutes every couple of hours staring out his window and pacing, telling himself that he should go down to the boat and confront this. Inevitably he waffles too long and night falls, and from there he decides to put it off by another day. Every morning he goes to school he resolves that as soon as he’s done he’ll go down to the docks and confess, and by every afternoon he’s convinced himself not to go.

Something finally possesses his feet to move, the Sunday after the bike incident. Maybe it’s the looming dread of the next week, or maybe Jim is just so strung up on stress and lack of sleep that his decision making is finally fried enough for this to seem like a good idea.

Jim admits to himself that he’d been scared the boat wouldn’t be there anymore, when a sigh of relief escapes him at the sight of it right where he left it. He bites his nail, chews it for a moment until he shakes his head free and gnaws his lip instead. The hard part still isn’t done, he has to get on the boat proper. Getting this far may have been massive undertaking, but Jim knows he’s only made it halfway. 

He’s not even sure Silver is onboard, at the moment. For all he knows the man could be out getting supplies. There’s no reason for him to spend every spare moment at the boat, not without Jim to supervise.

Jim boards anyway. He opens the door to the interior - closed, now, which isn’t all that notable except that it feels like it should be - and steps down into the artificial lighting. 

Silver is there. He steps back out of the storeroom as Jim reaches the bottom of the stairs, and they both freeze for a second. A hunter and a deer locking eyes over the barrel of the gun. 

Jim isn’t sure who accounts for what, in that analogy.

It’s Silver who moves first, standing a little straighter and smiling at Jim like it hasn’t been a solid six days since they last saw each other. Like they weren’t both wide eyed and nervous last time they did. 

“Jimbo, ‘bout time you showed up.” He says, like this is just him being a little late to an otherwise completely normal day. Jim wants to be angry at that, at the two of them skirting the issue, but he’s not. He’s relieved. A breath is shoved out of his lungs and he smiles back, shrugging as he steps into the galley properly.

He doesn’t say anything. Silver asks him to go and do something, and Jim does it, content to put off the conversation they need to have for a little while longer. He comes back and almost as quickly he’s back to work, crawling into the tight spots in the machine room to tighten bolts and give everything a check-up. 

It goes on like that for a while. Jim keeps waiting for an opportunity to pause, but for once Silver is running him without break or any kind of breathing room. 

Dusk is falling as Jim is working on his latest task for the day. Silver asked him to pick the expired cans and jars from the cabinet below the counter, so he’s standing in the kitchen sorting through a box of assorted foodstuffs. Partway through Silver had come down and sat at the table, putting his back to Jim and not saying anything as he’s regarding a series of old maps from the navigation console. He’s smoking again, but Jim doesn’t mind it this time. He can smell the herbs and the minutia of the tobacco rather than just the flavour of smoke gathering at the back of his throat. It’s different enough from what he remembers to be unobtrusive, even sort of pleasant.

“How’re the bruises doing?” Silver asks in the quiet.

Jim pauses. It’s the first time either of them have acknowledged their last interaction. He’d been so caught up in the renewed camaraderie that he almost forgot about it, about his intention when he came down here.

“Good.” He answers, after thinking for way too long. “They’re mostly gone by now.” 

He pulls a few more cans, checks the expiration date, and then sorts them back into the box except for one that gets shoved into a pile with others to be disposed of. The quiet has turned heavy now, and as Jim thinks on it his brow furrows and lowers until he’s glaring at the cans more than looking. 

He stops, bracing his hands either side of the crate and his shoulders holding the brunt of his weight. He’s still looking into the almost empty box, reading the labels absently as he licks his lips. 

“I wanna talk.” He says, then adds haltingly. “About last time.”

The tension in the room dips, a change Jim can feel in the tightening of his shoulders. Silver’s breathing has picked up, just barely, but enough that he notices it.

Still, the older man’s voice is deceptively light as he speaks.

“What about it, Jimbo?”

“That last part. Before I ran away.” His face is heating up, but his expression is slack. Jim feels like he’s viewing this from the outside, like someone else is controlling his mouth. 

“I’ll ask again lad, what about it?” Silver’s voice sounds tighter, more controlled.

Jim picks up his head, turning to peek through his hair at Silver only to find the man looking right back at him. He can’t hold his gaze, as soon as their eyes meet Jim glances away again, his body tingling with nervous energy as he fixates instead on the wall in front of him. 

“You know what.” He whispers. 

In the corner of his vision, Silver adjusts. He settles back somewhat, leaning into the chair and sighing. The electricity in the air releases by a fraction, enough for Jim to peer back and then turn to face Silver fully. 

Their eyes meet, but this time they’re facing one another. The air between them is still fraught, but the way Silver is resting his elbow on the table and with his mechanical hand propping up his chin, it’s calmer somehow. 

“I remember what it’s like to be a young buck, Jimbo. Ain’t nothing to be ‘shamed of, what happened.” 

“I wasn’t ashamed of it.” Jim answers immediately. That numb feeling returns, allowing him to speak his mind when there’s fear pulsing through every inch of his body. 

Silver’s brow furrows, slightly. His eyes become guarded and Jim sees the subtle flex of his left hand where it’s laying against the table. 

“Then I’m not sure what yer askin’ of me, lad.” He admits, watching Jim closely, like he’s hesitant to look away for fear of being attacked.

Jim walks around the counter separating them slowly. As he approaches Silver’s eyes follow him, never moving away or even blinking. He looks wary of the boy, which is funny coming from a guy who can and has manhandled Jim around like he’s nothing. His hand drops from where it’s resting and he sits up, body shifting to attention as the younger man rounds the corner.

Jim’s heart is sitting solidly in his stomach, when there’s nothing but air separating the two of them. The three feet between their bodies feels like far too much but at the same time it’s not enough to give Jim time to collect himself. He steps forward once, twice, and then he stops again, now within armslength of the older man. 

He’s not that much taller, standing while Silver is sitting. It’s kind of a dizzying prospect, the sheer contrast between them, so Jim shoves it to the side to focus on the here and now, where he lets his fingertips connect with the back of Silver’s right hand. He allows that, glancing down once to follow the movement before his eyes are watching Jim’s face again. 

Jim isn’t happy with that. He draws his hand up, stepping into Silver’s personal space proper and dragging his whole hand up the slope of the older man’s arm. He’s so enthralled with that simple touch that Silver’s other hand closing gently around his wrist is startling.

“Jim.”

He expects Silver to look angry, by the tension in his voice, but he doesn’t. When Jim faces Silver he seems like a lot of things; stressed, nervous, wary, but anger doesn’t make itself known on his face or in his body language.

“Ye don’t owe me nothin’, understand?” He asks, like he’s pleading with Jim.

“I- I know.” Jim mumbles back, confused. 

“This isn’t an exchange, Jim.” He says, voice harder, and that forces the first small retreat from the younger man. 

“I know that.” He says, stepping back enough that Silver releases his hand. An edge of anger rises in his throat, but he tamps it down.

Silver hasn’t moved, and Jim lets the simmering doubts subside as they stare at one another. The air is thick with unease again, but Jim doesn’t want to let this go. He steps closer again, this time reaching for Silver’s shoulder with determination on his face. He needs Silver to  _ know,  _ this isn’t something he’s just going to let slide, not when they both want it. 

The reaction is instant, this time. As soon as his hand connects with the older man’s arm he has a firm palm planted on his chest, pushing him back gently but uncompromising. Silver turns away from him, almost a flinch if not for the irritated set of his shoulders and mouth.

“James.” He says, and Jim freezes. 

Not Jimbo, not even Jim.  _ James. _ That hits like a blow, and he pulls his hand back more quickly this time. Jim shuffles back a step, but Silver is still refusing to look at him, and that hurts way more than the use of his full name ever could. 

Jim is shaking, eyes stinging with the knowledge that he has fucked up immeasurably. He tears his vision away from Silver, fixating on the floor at the bottom of the stairs with a sharp inhale.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, meaning it with every fiber of his being. “I don’t know why…”

Jim knows he has issues, but he’s been okay with them for the most part. Silver had let him know that it’s okay, and he’d accepted that, but this…

This kinda proves that he’s more fucked up than he thought. 

“It’s just-” Jim starts, stops, takes a shaky breath. “You’re the first person who’s given a damn in… a long time, I guess.” 

Silver still isn’t saying anything, and Jim is scared to look at him. He’s terrified of seeing anger on his face, or disgust. Pity is what he fears most of all, he’ll admit to himself. The circling anger comes back around to Jim then. Bitterness, because of course he wasn’t good enough, of course this couldn’t last. It’s his own fault, really, for getting so involved. He shouldn’t have cared to begin with, now look where he’s at.

“Forget it. I- I’ll go.” He spits. His feet still take several long seconds to start pulling him away, a snippet of time where Jim desperately hopes that Silver will grab his hand and pull him back into a comforting embrace. 

The cold wind outside the cabin makes him gasp, but Jim doesn’t stop or slow down. He just keeps up his determined, brisk walk over the boards of the dock, leaving the warmth and comfort of the cabin behind. His eyes protest the cold with tears, and Jim rubs at them with a snarl and frustration building in his throat. This is stupid, he was dumb to think this would end well. It’s his own damn fault, he keeps repeating as he treks up the hill and enters the inn. 

His mother calls to him, but her words bleed together with the fog diluting Jim’s mind. He hears himself respond “I’m fine,” unconvincingly as he climbs the stairs and closes himself in his room. 

The wind outside is howling, picking up with rain starting to pelt down, and Jim can’t stop his eyes welling up even though he’s out of the cold. His chest rattles with the force of him trying to keep from making noise as he’s crying, because he doesn’t deserve to cry over this. He ruined a good thing, he shouldn’t get to mourn now that he’s killed it.

Of course, that doesn’t stop him from sobbing into his sleeve.


	4. Getting Back On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bad day at school, and Jim goes for a ride.

The next day at school starts off bad and just goes downhill from there. 

Jim jogs into his first class late by several minutes, just as the teacher is handing out their essays from a couple weeks ago. She hands him his with a dismissive “Hmph,” before moving on. 

The bloody red C- in the top righthand corner isn’t all that bad, at least compared to where Jim’s grades normally end up. The marker note beneath it is significantly more debilitating, though. 

_“I know you can do better. Try harder next time.”_

To someone else, it might read as actually encouraging. For Jim, whose lack of sleep has been compounded a hundred times by stress, it’s a slap in the fucking face. He _had_ tried, he’d passed out working on that paper.

He slumps down into his seat and pulls his hood up, shame burning across his face despite the note being private. He puts his earbuds in ten minutes into the lecture, the wires hidden inside his hoodie. 

The end of class can’t come quickly enough. Jim is the first one out the door when the bell rings, still zipping up his bag as he walks down the hall. The wash of other students moving with him slows traffic to a crawl, but he just sighs. At least he’s not getting jostled around anymore, like when he was a freshman. 

His next period is calculus, which drags, but at least this teacher isn’t trying to get him to pay attention. He writes down the homework and lets his mind wander, earbuds in and not even wearing a hood, now. Nobody pays attention to him anyway, except to point out the prickly upperclassman to the newcomers and warn them to stay away. 

Jim tries not to think of the night before, but it’s hopeless. It’s all he can do to keep from cringing in his seat at the memory. He was _coming_ _on_ to Silver. He all but threw himself at the man. _God,_ he’s a fucking dumbass. Of course Silver would turn him down, what did he think was going to happen? That they’d kiss and fall into bed together? He’s just a kid to Silver.

Maybe he can say he was high again? No, he’d been around for a couple of hours and had shown no other signs of being intoxicated. There isn’t an easy way out of this, and Jim isn’t confident that Silver will let it slide. He knows the man well by now, sure, but he’s constantly managing to surprise Jim. He could completely ignore it, or just as soon as force him to fess up and explain himself. 

The period ends with Jim still deep in his own head, and he’s startled by the bell and the other students packing up to leave. 

The hallways are rowdier, with kids making their way to lunch, and Jim opts for the back way. The stairwells the long way around are less crowded, though there’s still plenty of people he passes on his way.

When he reaches the stairs there’s a group of other seniors laughing and loitering on the steps. Jim has had run ins with them in the past, but they’re mostly content to leave him alone these days. He’s not worth their time, more often than not, and there’s no reason for them to even notice him among the steady trickle of other students passing up and down.

His luck doesn’t hold. As Jim is nearing their group one of the boys turns to zero in on him, a sneer pulling at his lips. Jim locks eyes with Miles Newton, glaring, and it’s only when Jim is within earshot that he speaks.

“Fuckin’ fag.” He mutters, under his breath, and Jim feels himself falling into the familiar well of anger in his chest. None of the other students around them react, aside from the cruel snickers of Newton's friends, so Jim is entirely alone as he tries to stalk past. 

He shouldn’t react. They’re just trying to get a rise out of him, it’s not worth playing into their game to punch Newton in his face. It’s not. _It’s not._

Jim takes the first step down the stairs, all of two steps beyond them with his shoulders hunched up by his ears and his teeth gritting with the strain of not reacting the way he wants to.

“Yeah, that’s right. Fuckin’ pussy.” Newton hisses, after Jim, and his self control finally gives to the surge of anger that follows.

He turns on his heel and decks Miles in his nose, making the other boy yelp as Jim is throwing his bag off and rushing for another punch. 

* * *

A teacher passing through is what finally breaks them up. What should have been a short and brutal fight in Miles’ favor is drawn out by the fact that Newton’s friends seem content to watch and jeer from the sidelines rather than helping their friend. But as soon as the boys are separated they start spinning a story about how Jim punched the other boy out of nowhere, that they were all just minding their business. Nobody else heard the goading, so nobody supports Jim’s version of the story. 

He’s escorted out with a note for his mother tucked into his bag, and Jim doesn’t even have the energy to be mad about it. A week suspension is comparable to the shit he’s gotten up to every year, though it’s usually his third or fourth infraction that lands him here. Even the school is sick of his shit apparently though, and pulling his act together for a few months isn’t enough for them to forget the way he’d acted every year prior.

Other students whisper behind his back, as he’s being escorted out. Jim grits his teeth and tries to ignore them, the pointed comments and remarks. He walks to where he’d left his bike leaning against a tree at the side of the parking lot and kicks it into gear. The rumble of the engine covers his own angry shout, and then he’s pulling on his helmet and is trapped in his own head for the ride back home.

His mom doesn’t get it, neither does Amelia. They’re both at a loss, when the letter reaches them. Jim had been doing well, aside from some minor dips, but this is just like last year. It’s worse, even. At least before he would _try_ occasionally. This time he’s only avoiding any permanent consequences by a razor thin margin. 

He lies through his teeth when his mother asks him what’s going on. He tells her Silver had to leave for a while, that he didn’t need Jim’s help, and whatever correspondence his mother has with the man must not reveal his lie. He can’t help but feel resentful towards it, for drawing this out even more,

His mom tries to talk to him, get him to tell her what’s wrong but he’s too exhausted and angry for it to stick. Every night he climbs into bed he replays that last exchange, each time finding more ways he fucked it up. And it was his mistake, not Silver’s. He’s the one who pushed for more, it’s not Silver’s fault he misread the man’s intention. Amelia tries too, but he doesn’t want to talk about it and he’s a stubborn teenager, so there’s only so much she can do.

He hasn’t seen Silver since that night, and Jim honestly doesn’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse. His stomach lurches every time he thinks of him in passing, and each and every time he scrounges up a good mood, it sours. He almost wishes Amelia or his mother would force the issue so he’d just have to get it over with already, but neither of them do. Silver seems perfectly fine with letting Jim have his space, which also falls debatably on the curse/blessing scale depending on what mood he’s in. 

It’s the weather finally getting colder that triggers Jim to go for a ride. It’s late October now, the ground has frozen and every night brings with it the promise of frost the next morning. He knows it isn’t long until the snow and ice starts up and he’s sidelined for a while, he needs to get his rides in while he still can. 

Jim doesn’t bother bundling up. He zips up his old leather jacket where he’d normally leave it loose and ties his boots as tightly as they’ll go, but aside from a pair of gloves he doesn’t dress for the cold any more than he normally would. The adrenaline and the exertion of moving himself and the bike will be more than enough to keep him warm, and it isn’t even below freezing yet. 

The trails are more deserted, this time of year. Sometimes during the summer months he can hardly move for other riders getting in his way, but the autumn is always solidly for Jim. He might as well own the woods, now, and he very well feels like he does.

The familiar bumps and bounces on his shocks is soothing, in it’s own weird way. The bruises and scrapes from his last accident have healed, so he has no issue navigating over the mountains and hills surrounding the small collection of houses and businesses that make up the town. 

He starts off riding fast and hard, the way he usually does and the way that makes his heart thunder in his chest so hard he can see it when he gets home, thumping away just under his ribcage as he stands in the shower. It’s thrilling, making his toes curl in his boots and his fingers cramp with how hard he’s gripping the handlebars. The wind rushing past his face and into his lungs feels like splinters of ice but he doesn’t care, it’s worth it. 

The speed decreases little by little, the increments so tiny Jim doesn’t even notice he’s doing it. Gradually the trees flanking the trails start to go by slower, long enough for him to turn his head and look without his bike reacting to his momentary loss of focus. A crow he startles from the undergrowth goes by over his head, cawing in protest, and it isn’t until Jim has already tracked its path and looked down again that he notices several seconds passed without him looking at the dirt under his wheels, and he hadn’t crashed. 

Instead of ramping up the speed, Jim lets the sluggishness overtake him. He keeps going, bike just purring under his body instead of its usual roaring. The background noise and the scenery of the trees gives him the time and space to think. 

It’s space he shouldn’t need. He’s had several days to go over what happened, to over-analyse every aspect of it until he’s tearing his hair out and ready to cry from frustration. Part of why he’d wanted to go for a ride in the first place was to get away from that, let himself not think and just feel for a while. 

He coasts down the hillside, letting gravity propel him more than the engine between his knees. The picking up speed forces him to pay attention or risk another hard landing on his ass, but Jim still can’t shake being stuck in his own head. He lets his instincts guide him, following the dirt pathways for several more minutes before he hits the place where the mountain drops off into the ocean cliffs. 

He’s made it back to town. Or the outskirts of it, at least. He knows the little bay the docks are situated in is just over a hill from here. 

Jim doesn’t even think about it, as he’s pressing down on the gas to climb the incline. He’s been letting gravity do all the work for a while now, so his first reaction when his bike growls at him warningly is confusion. He revs the engine, pushing harder on the gas, and the whine only increases in volume. 

He’s made it partway up the hill at this point. He wonders if it wasn’t mostly momentum that allowed him to make it this far, because it’s becoming clear his bike is not able to make this, and that it’s been struggling for far longer than the several seconds since it came to his attention. 

The wheel finally stops moving forward, and just as it’s readying to slide backwards Jim manages to slip off onto one foot and brace it from rolling away.

Jim thinks he should probably feel something about this. Annoyance, or anger, or even sadness, but he doesn’t. 

“Shit.” He says to the woods, closing his eyes and voice utterly devoid of anything other than resignation. The sound is loud in the silence, which means his bike is probably dead, too. 

Jim sighs. He maneuvers himself off the vehicle without either of them sliding down the hill, laying the bike on it’s side and kneeling at its side like a rider with a wounded horse. Methodically, he begins checking the engine, the shocks, anything that might have gone wrong. 

Several minutes later and Jim has found the source of the issue. The seal between the fuel tank and the engine has cracked, probably from the cold snap they had last night, and has been leaking in a steady drip. It was likely doing it when he took it out of the garage. 

Jim wants to scream, but he doesn’t have the energy. He screwed up, again, and now he has to tow the bike down a mountainside and walk it across town.

It takes him several minutes to collect himself, sitting in the leaf litter over his bike like he’s mourning, or praying. Eventually Jim finds the will to drag both himself and the vehicle upright and begin what will most assuredly be a very long walk. 

He notices quickly that the day has gotten colder, since he left. When he checks his phone it helpfully informs him that he hasn’t been gone more than an hour yet, but already the temperature is dropping noticeably. Without the warmth of his blood rushing and sweat to keep him going, the chill is setting in quick, and that makes him nervous. 

Jim isn’t stupid. Reckless definitely, but not stupid. He’s lived in the northeast all his life, and he’s seen plenty of what happens to people who get caught out in the elements. Even at a this time of year the cold can be fucking dangerous, and as he keeps checking the slowly dropping temperature his anxiety begins to increase. It’s nearing freezing point, and the sun will be setting soon. 

It’s that fear of the cold that pushes a breath of relief from him at the first sign of civilisation. Through a clearing in the trees Jim can see the edge of the cliffs overhanging the ocean, and in scanning that horizon line he spots the hard lines and smooth tones of a manmade structure. A house, small and kind of ramshackle, but clearly maintained. There’s a pickup in the driveway and some of the lights are on, and Jim hopes like hell that means someone’s home. 

Normally he’d be too stubborn to take help from anyone, much less beg for it, but he’d rather do this a hundred times over than explain to his mother why he got frostbite because he didn’t want to ask some random person for a ride home. 

The walk up the way to the house feels like the final stretch of a race. His stress is finally relieved, even by just a fraction. His fingers are starting to go numb, as he lets his bike drop carefully into the leaves before climbing the stairs to the front door, and Jim blows into his palms before knocking. He’s never been more grateful for the weirdos who choose to live up on the mountain like this. 

Somebody responds to his knock, but Jim can’t hear much beyond the fact that someone is speaking. He raps his knuckles on the door again, just to make sure they heard him, and sure enough he hears someone approaching. 

The door opens, and every bit of stress Jim had been releasing slams back into his body in a heartbeat. The chagrined smile he’d prepared for whoever he needed to beg for help drops, replaced by surprise and dismay as he comes face to face with Silver for the first time in almost a week. 

The older man seems equally shocked, at least. For a moment neither of them says anything, and Jim seriously reconsiders how dangerous it might be for him to try and tow the bike home by himself. The temperature hasn’t dropped below freezing yet, and he still has some time before the sun sets. 

Silver gathers himself before Jim can turn on his heel and run away again. He looks the boy up and down first, eyeing him critically before his focus shifts to the bike on the path behind Jim. A hesitant, crooked smile breaks over his face. He looks at Jim slyly, nodding at the downed dirt bike as he speaks.

“Blasted thing finally quit on ye, aye?”

Jim’s defensiveness over his workmanship rears it’s head and responds for him.

“It’s just a problem with the fuel seal. It’s not my fault.” 

The sharp reply only makes Silver smile wider. He’s fully grinning down at the boy now, like nothing out of the ordinary happened the last time they were in a room together. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Jim asks, surprise sharpening his tone more than he intends, but Silver doesn’t acknowledge it.

“It’s my house, Jimbo. Ought to be askin’ what yer doin’ out here.” 

It makes sense, realistically. Jim knew Silver had to be going somewhere when he left the boat, but it never occurred to him to think about where. When he looks at the truck in the driveway he can see a trailer hitch that could probably be used for the boat, and the longer he looks the more he sees clues of Silver’s presence.

“Well?” Silver asks, and Jim turns back to him. He’s smiling still, one eyebrow raised and arms crossed as he waits for the younger man to answer.

Jim shrugs.

“Like you said. Bike quit on me.” He scuffs his boot on the doorstep. The awkwardness has reappeared. The shock of suddenly being near Silver makes him remember why he was hesitant to see him. 

A hand cups his shoulder, radiating warmth through the chill of his clothes, and Jim looks up. His face is red, but he knows that’s from the cold rather than the curl of hope in his chest. Still, his cheeks regain a little bit of life, and he can’t help the hesitant smile that fights its way onto his lips. There’s an understanding, in that contact, and Jim feels forgiven. The weight off his shoulders feels good.

“C’mon, let's get ye inside an’ out of the cold.” Silver says, patting his back and moving past Jim towards the garage. Dutifully Jim turns and pushes his bike up again, wheeling it after Silver and under the door as it’s held up for him.

The rattle-crash the garage door makes as it closes is loud in the small space, but Jim isn’t bothered. The inside of the garage isn’t heated like the inside of the house, but it’s shielded from the wind and the floor is cement instead of dirt, and an open door into the rest of the house leaks warm air into the space. 

Jim pushes the kickstand down and leans his bike in the center of the floor, peeling off his gloves and tucking his hands into his armpits to warm them up. 

“A’right, lets see what you’ve done here.” Silver says, laughter in his voice. When Jim turns to face him he’s kneeling and dropping a box of tools to the floor beside the languishing bike. It’s like being on the boat again, things are simple between them. 

Jim goes to the floor next to Silver, shuffling closer when the man drags him in with a hand on his back. They’re sitting together, heads bent over the machinery, and Jim can admit to himself how much he missed this. 

It shouldn’t be fun, fixing a rusted and scrap metal bike in the cold, but it is. Jim loses his nerves and they fall back into that rhythmic movement, bantering and sniping at one another over and around the bike. Jim’s fingers are half numb with touching the cold metal and he’s up to his elbows in grease, but the barbed wire of guilt and shame that was squeezing around his stomach has loosened.

By the time they’re almost done an hour has passed. They fixed up the leak first, but Jim doesn’t want to stop there, and by the continual offers to help, neither does Silver. He has tools and supplies here that Jim can only dream about, and the younger man is not about to let this opportunity pass him by. 

They’re lying on their backs, side by side and both peering up at some mismatched machinery Jim had cobbled together into one coherent piece. The fix is old by now, done early on in the bike's life and it hasn’t held up particularly well in the years since. 

“It’ll need a bit of proper welding, to keep that seal nice an’ tight.” Silver explains. He reaches out and jostles the connector, nodding to himself when it shifts with the rest of the bike. “But ye should be able to go without fer a while, least ‘til I can get something to fix her up with. No use doing a half measure here.”

“Who says I’m gonna let you do it?” Jim asks, reaching up and swatting Silver’s hands away to touch it himself. The older man pulls back, but not by much. His fingers are still brushing Jim’s forearms where he’s rolled up his sleeves. 

“From the look of things, I’d say ye need whatever help you can get, lad.” Silver shoots back, a smirk in his voice. Out of the corner of his eye Jim sees Silver look towards him, but he doesn’t turn his head to meet his eyes.

“Hey, I’ve been managing just fine on my own until now.” He growls back, but there’s no real bite in it. He runs his finger around the edge of the pipe, doing like Silver said and feeling where the weak spots are. 

Silver has gone quiet, and Jim finally looks at him properly, and it’s only then that he notices how damn close they are. Their shoulders are brushing, where they’re laying on the ground, but the angle they need to put their heads close together means that there’s only a scant few inches between them right now. 

Jim freezes, and the only motion he detects from Silver is the slow fade of his smile into something unreadable. Not neutral, his face is too expressive for that. He looks somewhere between scared and hungry. Their gaze is holding, and Jim feels his hand slip from the bike. He turns his body, just slightly angling towards the older man, and sees his shoulders mirror the movement by an inch. 

All of the air in the garage has vanished, like it’s been sucked out into a vacuum. Jim swears he can feel the emptiness of space around him, but all he can see is Silver’s eyes as his gaze drops down before snapping back up, something like guilt crossing his face. 

“Jimbo-” Silver starts, sounding like he’s trying to warn the boy away from something, but he stops himself just as quickly. His left hand is curling in the air between them, like he’s not sure what he wants to do. 

The sound of his name pulls Jim from his stupor, and he finally moves. 

He rolls onto his side and braces one arm against the floor as he pushes forward, his other fisting in Silver’s shirt as he lunges for the man. Their lips connect messily, and Jim has to angle his head up to slot their mouths together in a way that actually feels like it fits. Silver doesn’t move, and doesn’t make a sound except for a sharp intake of breath when Jim pounces. His hands stay open and frozen in midair, touching neither Jim nor the bike.

Nothing happens, for a handful of seconds. Just enough time for Jim to realize what he’s done and feel his heart plummet to tangle in his intestines. He gasps, not pulling away except by the barest margin as fear courses through his blood. 

The tiny noise between their mouths spurs Silver into action, then. His hands go from passive and held in the air to curling around and over Jim, holding him like he might never let go. The left rests on his cheek, the right on his shoulder, and both hands fingers are digging in just enough for Jim to feel the way Silver is holding back from clutching him so tightly it hurts. That reined desperation pulls at the younger man and he exhales, breath hitching as Silver’s hand guides him into a better angle. 

The next kiss is the first real one. This isn’t clumsily crashing their faces together, it’s their lips slotting together the way they’re meant to. Jim opens his mouth, sucking in a breath that he feels like he’s going to need, but he only gets part way before Silver’s tongue is delving into his mouth and pulling the moans from his throat with practised ease. 

Silver doesn’t let up, and he doesn’t give Jim any mercy. He drowns the boy in it, pulling him closer and holding him there as he ravages his mouth. Jim knows without a doubt how long he’s wanted to do this suddenly, and then he couldn’t make his sounds of encouragement loud enough if he was screaming.

As quickly as he started, Silver stops. He pulls away from Jim like he’s been bitten, fear and regret already showing on his face as he pants, but his hands are still holding Jim, if more gently.

“Do the smart thing an’ leave while ye can, Jimbo.” He pleads, _begs_. Silver sounds like he doesn’t want Jim to go, but like he needs to say this. Like he honestly thinks it’s better for both of them if he pushes the younger man away when he clearly doesn’t want to.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t like doing the smart thing.” Jim says back, before diving in again. Silver leans into this kiss, less need and more want, but he still pushes Jim back sooner than he’d like.

“You’re just a boy.” Silver says, soft and like he’s trying to talk himself out of this, but Jim is having none of that. 

He pulls out of Silver’s hands, eyes hard and determined. The older man looks resigned, at first, but his eyes widen again as instead of running away Jim gets onto his knees and braces his hands on the floor over Silver’s shoulders. He’s leaning over him, their faces inches apart and chests even closer where they’re both breathing hard. 

“I’m almost eighteen, I know what I want, and I want you.” He growls, in a voice that refuses to be compromised with. 

His arms give out, a calculated drop that puts him on top of Silver and lets him kiss the man again, this time licking into his mouth. He leaves one arm on the floor, keeping him from overbalancing, but the other he uses to grab a fistful of Silver’s short, scruffy hair as a handhold.

Silver returns the kiss, pawing over Jim’s side and back to hold him again, and the feeling of arms around him makes the younger man shudder. He breaks the kiss, gulping for air and feeling the sting of the cold again after sharing warm breaths with Silver for what feels like hours. His hand trails down, tracing the side of Silver’s cheek and then halting suddenly when he hears a hiss.

“Jesus, lad. Yer hands are freezing.” He says. Jim mumbles out an apology, going to pull back, but Silver wraps the warmth of his own palm around the younger man’s fingers and brings them both to his mouth. He kisses over the numbed flesh, breathing gently over them and trailing his lips along each knuckle gingerly. 

Jim’s thundering heart slows to a syrupy drip. Their shared kiss may have been driven by lust, but this, whatever this is, goes deeper than that. It’s affection and softness, and something more, but he’s scared to say the word even in his head when it’s this fragile. 

Silver moves first. He looks up Jim, still cradling his hand like it’s a wounded bird. His other hand moves, brushing up the boy’s neck and jaw before diving into his hair, stroking it away from where it’s fallen into his face. 

“Silver…” Jim says, his heart threatening to climb up his throat. 

The older man shakes his head, momentarily staring at something far away and over Jim’s shoulder, but before the boy can comment on it the moment is over.

“Let’s get ye somewhere warm.” He says, all good humor and smiles, but there’s a sliver of a promise in there, something that Jim is dying to dig his claws into.

Before Silver can try and say anything else Jim is on his feet and scampering away, leaving the older man to stand up on his own. He’s excited, and it’s hard to stand still when he pauses and waits in the open doorway as Silver gets up to follow him. 

The sight of Silver advancing slowly towards him stirs something in Jim. His spine trembles and he leans his back into the doorjamb, letting the wood support him as he feels ready to collapse. Finally Silver is standing in front of him, body facing Jim and both of them crowded into the doorway. 

Jim’s eyes close in a leisurely blink as Silver leans down to rest their foreheads together. He takes several deep breaths like that, his hand tracing up Jim’s shoulder and his thumb caressing his neck. 

“Couldn’t keep tellin’ ye no.” He murmurs, sounding apologetic. 

Jim can’t stop the smile from slipping onto his face, hopeful and shy and a little self deprecating as he says, “So it wasn’t just in my head, then.” 

Silver shakes his head no, sighing again and then kissing Jim’s forehead. 

“No, Jimbo. It weren’t just you. Wish for both our sakes it were.” 

“Please don’t say that.” Jim mumbles.

Silver doesn’t say anything else. He sways towards Jim again, catching his mouth in another kiss and melting away either of their feeble protests. He reaches for Silver, clutching at him and straining on the toes of his boots to feel even an inch closer to him.

The right hand reaches for Jim again, coming to rest on his waist and pulling another shaky gasp. Jim whines, and the older man shushes him with a laugh. 

“Ask me something.” He chokes out, going a bit lightheaded as Silver puts his hand on the doorframe behind Jim’s head. “I wanna say yes, ask me something. Anything.” 

Another low chuckle rumbles out of Silver’s chest, and Jim bucks his body forwards to feel it echo in his own.

“Come inside?” He whispers, voice so low and hungry that those two words feel more suggestive than any of the dirty things Jim has ever heard.

“ _Fuck_ yes.” He moans. 

The scramble down the hallway is less filled with kissing than Jim would have liked. He trots ahead by a few steps, stopping at the end of the hall to take in the view. 

The living room and kitchen are one open space, divided by a lush couch into two equal parts. The kitchen is tiled and has wooden countertops that have been marked by years upon years of knives cutting the surface, and the grout is faded dark around the corners of the room. The floor transitions to wood for the rest of the room, moving under the couch where it faces a long wall lined with windows and a television that, while not old, isn’t exactly the newest model either. The space is small, but it’s warm and lit by yellow lamps that make Jim feel at ease. He can see two doors at the far end of the room, presumably to a bathroom and bedroom, but he doesn’t have time to speculate, because Silver has caught up with him.

A hand on the small of his back is all the warning Jim gets before he’s caught in another intense kiss, Silver leaning half over his shoulder and guiding his chin back with a hand. Jim parts his lips eagerly, turning without breaking contact and letting Silver walk him backwards into the room. 

“You live here?” He asks, between gasps and kisses. 

“Aye.” Silver hums back. “Got the place jus’ after I arrived.” 

“It’s nice. Cozy.” Jim says, before getting pulled into another kiss. The back of his thighs hit something soft, and when he turns he finds that Silver has maneuvered him up against the side of the couch. 

Without needing any prompting, Jim hops onto the arm and then falls backwards, hitting the cushions with an exhale and a bounce. His knees are still folded over the side, and laying down the figure of Silver leaning forward over him is a lot more intimidating, but like hell he’s backing out now. 

It seems like suddenly having Jim laid out before him triggers a change of heart in Silver, though. The hunger and darkness that’s been guiding him since their mouths first met retreats somewhat, and Jim senses the doubts creeping in like a tangible thing. 

“C’mon, don’t leave me hanging.” He pleads, rubbing the toe of his boot up and down on the outside of Silver’s leg to try and tempt him. He knows it’s fear, the dread that maybe Silver will decide he doesn’t want this after all, and the irrational hope that maybe if he just moves this along fast enough he can stop whatever doubts might be lurking in Silver’s heart. 

Jim peels out of his jacket, leaving on his t-shirt for now, in the hopes that Silver will remove it for him. When the older man doesn’t move he winks, grinning and leaning back to let the hem ride up.

The older man shakes his head, but he comes around the side of the couch. Jim sits up to make room for him, and as soon as Silver sits down he’s back invading his space again. They trade more kisses, mouths open more than they’re sealed together and tongues feeling the air just as much as one another. 

At some point in the kissing Silver ends up lying down, and Jim settles with one leg between Silver’s and the other almost on the floor where it hangs over the side of the couch. He’s sitting up, forearms laying on the older man’s chest in a lazy plank position. The couch is soft, he thinks, as he’s straddling Silver’s thigh. It doesn’t really make sense that his mind goes there, but Jim can’t make his brain function properly right now. The tongue in his mouth is coaxing any coherent thought out of him easily. 

Just when his hips start grinding into the muscle pinned beneath him, Silver pulls away from the kiss. He turns his head and digs his fingers into Jim’s hip, holding him still. That isn’t enough to stop him feeling the length pressing up against his groin, but Silver holds steadfast when Jim whimpers and tries to continue.

“Easy, lad. Take it slow.” He murmurs, eyes closed like it physically pains him to do this. It might, honestly. Jim is hard enough to almost come in his pants right now, it’s not unreasonable that Silver might be just as aroused.

“I don’t wanna go slow.” Jim argues, trying to push past the boundaries and grind down. He’s so close already, and he’s never been on the edge like this and successfully come down to earth again without an orgasm. 

Silver puts a stop to that. He says Jim’s name again, warning, and even when he’s ready to burst at the seams Jim knows he couldn’t live with himself if he ignored that. Still, his frustration is very clear. Both in his body language and the betrayed glare he sends up at Silver. 

“I know, lad. I know ye want it.” He says, soft and comforting.

“I do want it. I want you.” Jim is begging, now, but Silver isn’t swayed by his protests. His right hand curls against Jim’s cheek, gentler than he’s ever been and sweet enough that he forgives the arousal without release. 

“Ye said you’re almost eighteen, didn’t ye?” He asks. Jim nods.

“Next weekend.” He says, trying not to get excited. 

Silver takes a breath, collecting himself. 

“Wait ‘til then. You think on this for a week, an’ if ye still want me when that’s over I’ll do anything ye want.” 

That promise almost gets rid of Jim’s erection problem for him, his pelvic muscles tightening up and nearly making him come on the spot. The idea of anything he wants, anything Silver can do to him, in just a weeks time? That trade off is well worth it.

“Done.” He says, quickly. 

“Ye have to promise me you’ll think on it, Jim.” Silver clarifies, like he read the boy’s mind. 

“I will.” Jim replies, only a little offended.

He leans in for another kiss. Just because they aren’t doing anything for a couple weeks doesn’t mean he can’t get some of the affection he’s been craving. Except Silver disagrees, apparently, because he turns away with a smirk when Jim tries to lean in again. An unintentional growl escapes the younger man, frustration at being denied so many times just when he thought he’d hit the jackpot.

“Not so sure that’s a good idea, Jimbo.” He says with a wry grin. 

“Whats the point of this if I can’t even kiss you yet?” 

“Once your little problem goes away I’ll kiss ye all ye like, but I’m not sure I can control meself when yer like this, lad.” 

Jim glares, eyes going blurry with how incredibly turned on he is. This isn’t fair. He wants Silver to ravage him, and Silver wants it too, but they have to wait because the older man has gotten it in his head that Jim will regret this later if they don’t. He growls again, intentionally this time, but with Silver refusing to engage him further he really doesn’t have a choice. 

Jim drops his full weight onto the older man’s chest, earning a grunt as he does so. It makes him feel a little better, that tiny revenge when Silver absolutely knows Jim is hard against his thigh. Besides the grunt, Silver doesn’t complain. Jim starts with his head pillowed on the older man’s chest, but as Silver’s breathing settles he adjusts his position. The slight change puts the top of his head resting under Silver’s chin, tucked into the space of his throat. Jim brings his hand up, his fingers playing restlessly with the collar of Silver’s shirt. 

The hands that had been resting on his hips slide up his back, staying overtop of Jim’s shirt despite his hopes. The left one curls over his spine, the hand resting at the dip of his waist on the opposite side. The right continues up higher, elbow settling into the valley between Jim’s shoulder blades and the hand itself sinking into his hair and massaging slow circles into his scalp. 

Jim’s anxious fiddling ceases at the movement. His lips part and he sighs, almost a moan as he relaxes. He’s never thought of the short hairs at the back of his head as _sensitive_ before, but as Silver continues rubbing at the area Jim is definitely enjoying himself. It feels like the fingers are pressing at his brain itself and working all the stresses out of him from the inside. 

The next noise is absolutely a moan, there’s no disguising it, but Silver doesn’t alter his course one way or the other. He keeps scratching at the younger man’s neck and the base of his skull, dragging through the hair that’s starting to get shaggy after a month with no trim. 

“Uhm… _oooh, shit…_ ” This isn’t helping him not be horny. He wants to tell Silver, to ask him to stop because he’s even harder than before now, but it feels _so_ good. 

“Something wrong lad?” Silver asks, and _fuck_ he’s talking _right_ in Jim’s ear like this.

“Oh, _screw you…_ ” Jim whines, sounding a lot more like he’s crying than he meant to. His hips jerk, grinding into Silver’s thigh again. _God,_ he’s so fucking hard, this isn’t fair.

He can feel Silver smiling, when he kisses the soft skin of his cheek. 

“Jus’ _relax,_ pup.”

“Easy for you to say when you’re not the one being _tortured_.” Jim bites back, squirming on top of Silver. 

Mercifully, the man finally takes pity on him. He lets his hand trail down and rub soothing circles into his back instead. That feels a lot safer, for some reason, and soon Jim is truly relaxing. 

He’s still entwined with Silver, like this. They’re laying together, in a way that could accurately be described as cuddling. That brings a warmth to his cheeks, of a new kind. It’s something soft blooming in his chest instead of spiking his arousal, and Jim finds he really likes the feelings of care and affection and comfort. 

Jim settles down a little more, nuzzling into Silver and tucking in his limbs to retain his warmth. The house might be heated significantly more than the outside world, but Jim is still feeling the repercussions of walking around in the freezing cold for almost an hour with no protection. A shiver runs through him, just barely, and before Jim can even vocalise the thought Silver is rubbing his left hand over the younger man’s back and arms, warming him up. 

“Cold?” He asks, softly, and Jim shakes his head. 

“No, m'good.” He mumbles. The day feels like it’s slowly catching up with him, as he relaxes from the high of arousal exhaustion is taking its place. 

Jim yawns and Silver pets the back of his head, more gently this time. Minute by minute his body getting heavier and harder to move, until he can barely keep his mind functioning except where it’s tracking the gentle up and down of Silver’s breathing. 

“Hey, Silver?” He mumbles, eyes already closed. 

Silver hums a questioning noise.

“Thanks.” The right hand pauses, stopping in its path and then resuming. The next touch falls against his forehead, smoothing back and brushing his hair away from his face. 

He feels Silver shift under him, rolling Jim’s weight back towards the back of the couch and putting the boy more along his side than on top of him. He doesn’t complain. Silver controls the change enough that Jim doesn’t have to lift a finger to adjust, and soon his head is back to resting on the older man’s chest with his shoulder now nestled under Silver’s upper arm. One leg is still thrown over the width of the couch, limp until Jim folds his foot back to leave just his knee resting lightly on top of Silver’s.

He feels a soft breath against his now bare forehead, then Silver’s hand pulls his head forward an inch and kisses him there. For several seconds they stay like that, just a chaste touch of lips that makes Jim feel more cherished than anything else they’ve done. He tips his head back, leaning into the touch to show he appreciates it, and Silver breaks off with a soft laugh to nuzzle into his hair. 

Jim dozes off to the feeling of the gentlest stirring of air over his head, and soft kisses dropped onto his skin in regular intervals, like Silver is reminding the boy he’s still there. 

* * *

Jim doesn’t remember passing out in his room, but it wouldn’t be the first time. Especially with how little sleep he’s been getting lately. 

There’s light shining in his eyes, sharp and painful. He groans, turning onto his side and pulling the blanket over his head, only for it to leave his feet exposed to the cold. The soft fleecy material under his hands doesn’t feel right, and Jim finally picks up his head with several long blinks. 

He isn’t in his bed, or even in his house, but the space isn’t unfamiliar. Jim remembers and turns onto his back on the couch again, sitting up and looking around with a yawn. Where the blanket has ridden up he can see the movement of his socked feet, his boots having apparently been removed though the rest of his clothes are still unchanged. 

The sunlight smacks him in the face again, where it’s streaming in the window. Outside Jim can see the ground where it drops off suddenly to the cliffs over the sea. 

He stands up, nearly tripping over his boots where they’ve been left unlaced and standing at the end of the couch. A smile tugs at his face, as he looks down at them. The thought of Silver laying him down, obviously moving carefully enough not to disturb Jim even though he was on top of the man. The boots were probably an afterthought, but the picture it paints is so fucking sweet that Jim can feel his teeth aching from the sugar. 

That does beg the question of where Silver has gone to now, though. The house isn’t very large, mostly made up of the combined living room and kitchen, and Silver is nowhere in sight at the moment. 

Content to wait for his return, Jim walks to the windows where the sun is shining in. Outside he can see the cliffs overlooking the town, and just below he sees the docks, close enough to make out most of the boats. This must have been how Silver spotted him. From this view anyone moving around down there would be obvious, doubly so if they were swinging a flashlight around. 

As he steps closer to get a better look, Jim hears the creak of the floorboards that signal Silver’s approach. He turns and sees him returning from the garage. When Silver reaches the room he stops, smiling at Jim where he’s standing, soft.

“Finally awake again, aye?” 

Jim goes to give a witty reply, but a yawn cuts him off. When he can see again, Silver’s expression has returned from amusement to affection. 

“C’mon lad.” He jerks his head towards the kitchen, and Jim crosses the room without any complaint, for once. It isn’t until he’s standing on the divide between the kitchen and the living room that the awkwardness hits him. 

There’s a shift in the air, small, but tangible. There’s a renegotiation of terms that needs to happen, but Jim has no idea how he’s supposed to start that conversation. He’s never done this before, even with other teenagers. He’s had people who seemed game, but it was always the quickly waning interest of the girls who saw him roll up on a dirt bike. They rapidly stopped caring when it became clear he’s just another stressed out kid and not some charming, suave, sexy bad boy.

He clears his throat, walking over and leaning against the counter. His instinct is to put his back to something, when he’s nervous. Standing in the middle of the room feels too open, vulnerable. Although, maybe that would be good for him. Feeling exposed. It might help this happen. 

Silver doesn’t say anything, and Jim can’t tell if it’s him leaving space or being equally as out of his depth here. Come to think of it, he has no idea what kind of experience Silver has. Jim feels confident guessing he’s had sex before, if only because of the complete control he’d exhibited earlier. That wasn’t the look of someone blindly fumbling for what to do, and the kissing was downright expert. Not that Jim is in a position to judge that. The question really comes down to if Silver has been with guys before. Jim’s face warms at the question, the image that conjures, because _wow._ He’s not sure if he’d rather be Silver’s first for sheer bragging rights or be the last in a long line of partners. 

Jim hesitates at the thought, but not because of the dichotomy he’d proposed to himself. That is something he suspects will stay up for debate until Silver puts the issue to rest. No, his mind catches on the idea of being the _last_. Jim has no issue admitting to himself that he wants Silver, but this being more than a fling poses the question of commitment, and that's something he’s not sure he’s ready to think about right now.

Silver has been moving around while Jim was in his own head, and he’d been tuning the man out so effectively that he doesn’t react until a hand covers his shoulder. 

Jim startles, then turns sheepish when Silver gives him a concerned once over. 

“Sorry. Kinda lost in thought.” He admits.

“S’alright. Got some coffee, if ye need it.” He offers. Silver sounds quieter than usual, softer. 

“God, I would kill for some coffee.” He groans, breaking the awkward tension. Both their voices had been near a whisper, he realises belatedly, and the volume of his exaggerated groan makes it a little easier to breathe again. 

Jim takes the offered mug and sips from it black. Most mornings he prefers at least some sugar, but he needs the bitterness to wake him up. As soon as he’s swallowing he looks back up, but quickly averts his eyes. He’s hesitant to look at Silver, right now. That feels too much like a confrontation, even with the man facing away from him and doing his own thing. 

Silence reigns, for what seems like a long time. Jim keeps taking steaming mouthfuls of coffee, hoping each one will bring the right words to his tongue, but all he gets is the faint sting from drinking too hot liquid. Silver doesn’t seem inclined to mention it though, and Jim knows this conversation needs to happen before he leaves, or else that stress from earlier is just going to come right back around to bite him in the ass.

“That… that actually happened, right?” He asks, looking down into his cup. “You and me, on the couch I mean.”

Silver goes still, for a few seconds, before turning to Jim very slowly. He can’t see his face like this, with his eyes still downcast, but the movement of the older man’s body and the prickle of eyes on him informs Jim of what’s going on. 

“It did.” He sounds nervous, like he’s waiting for Jim to come to his senses, but Jim doesn’t have the headspace to address that yet because the relief that flows through him pushes out all other emotions. 

“Thank god.” He says, finally looking up at Silver. The man’s head is cocked just slightly, like he’s confused, and Jim realizes he said that out loud. 

He feels the need to explain himself, to rationalize this. It’s hard to remember sometimes that Silver has only known him a few months. It feels like they’ve done this dance before, in the ethereal ‘somewhere else’ out of time or space.

“It’s just- usually whenever something good happens, it isn’t real. Or it doesn’t last, even if it is.” He looks away, fear creeping up his spine at the thought. “I’d have been kinda devastated, if it wasn’t real.” He laughs, but his heart isn’t in it. 

Silver steps closer, and the kitchen here seems like a vast expanse compared to the galley on the ship. Jim has several steps to look up and watch as Silver nears, then reaches out and holds his jaw and the side of his face in one hand. 

Jim doesn’t let go of his mug, but he tucks it closer to his chest as he steps into Silver. The older man wraps his other arm around, holding Jim loosely. The warm, broad frame around him makes him feel better, safer. 

“Not goin’ anywhere. Not ‘til yer done with me.” Silver murmurs, into his hair, and Jim chokes up. He takes one hand off the cup to clutch Silver back, tears suddenly building in his eyes. 

“Promise?” He asks, voice small. He’d intended it to sound playful, funny, but it comes out more like a broken sob. 

Silver breathes in, chest seizing, and then he lets it out in a long, measured stream. A flinch, or a gasp, Jim can’t tell the difference, but it doesn’t matter, because Silver whispers “Promise,” right back. 

They stand like that for a while. Jim’s hand starts to sting where it’s holding the hot mug but he’s wrapped in Silver’s hold that feels gentle, and also like the safest, most protected place in the world. They don’t move except for the soft motion of their torsos, breathing slowly syncing up.

It’s Silver who pushes Jim back, hand on his shoulder, and the younger man is relieved to see that he thumbs at his eyes subtly while Jim rubs at his more overt tear tracks. It’s not just him, they’re both stuck in it now. 

To distract himself, Jim pulls out his phone, only to find several texts and two missed calls from his mother. He curses, wiping away at his face harder and scrambling to send her the all clear. 

“Alright?” Silver asks, watching all of this unfold. 

“Yeah, just- Shit. Mom’s gonna kill me. I told her I wouldn’t be gone long. She probably thinks I broke my neck or something.” There’s stress in his voice, but he doesn’t rush for his boots. The deed is done, now, and shaving a couple seconds off his travel time back won’t make her any less pissed at him. 

His mother doesn’t respond, when he sends her a short _“im ok, sorry, lost service”_ , but he sees the little ‘read’ notification pop up under his message, so he doesn’t worry about it. 

“I should probably go home.” He doesn’t want to, he’d much rather stay here with Silver and feel out this new space they’ve carved, but putting off his mother’s anger won’t make it any better. 

“Tell her ye got caught up helpin’ me, if ye have to.” Silver offers, and Jim smiles at him. 

“Don’t tempt me, I’ll do it.” Silver laughs, looking proud, and Jim decides he’ll do anything to keep the older man looking at him like that. 

“You said my mom has your number, right?” Jim asks, as a thought occurs to him. He’s seen Silver’s phone, he knows it exists and gets use, if not much. 

“She does.” 

Jim bites his lip. 

“Can I have it too?” 

Silver doesn’t say yes, he doesn’t have to. He smirks and shakes his head, all the while handing his device over to Jim. In an instant the boy has Silver added to his contacts, and the older man’s phone pings with a message where it sits on the counter.

“You’re gonna be getting a lot of those, I hope you know.” Jim says, grinning up at Silver. 

“Jus’ don’t send anything that’ll get either of us in trouble an’ I’ll let it slide.” He says back, looking at Jim like he already knew what the boy was thinking. 

He doesn’t deny it. Jim just grins wider and tucks his phone back into his pocket. 

“I gotta go.” He says, walking back to the couch and tugging his boots on. 

“Need a ride?” 

Jim shakes his head.

“Nah, I’m just gonna take the bike. It’ll be faster anyway.” He looks up, grinning wickedly. Silver narrows his eyes at him, seeing the comment for the dig it is. 

“Don’t get too cocky now, lad. Wouldn’t want it to die on the way back home, would ye?” 

He’s smiling, and Jim grins right back. This feels normal, bantering and joking around. The world settles around him, more solid under his feet. 

Most of Jim’s stuff stays on the bike when he’s riding, so all he really has to do is grab his coat and gloves before he’s ready to leave. He chooses to linger a bit longer, finishing off the coffee and hesitating in the kitchen, looking to Silver before he leaves.

He’s torn. Half of him wants to keep up the feeling of normalcy and leave with a simple goodbye. The other half wants nothing more than to throw himself at Silver and kiss him before he goes, because he can (presumably) do that now.

Jim swallows his fear and walks over to Silver as casually as he can. It’s almost easy to mistake for a normal interaction between them, except for the fact that Jim doesn’t stop one or two feet away. He keeps going, invading the older man’s personal space, and Silver lets him.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, in a small voice, after a too long pause for breath. 

There’s a terrifying moment where Silver sucks in a breath that Jim thinks he’s actually going to say _no_ , but the smile and the slight shake of the head puts his fears at ease. 

Silver leans down and gives Jim the barest brush of lips over his forehead, and then pulls back with a look like he knows he’s about to get chastised.

“That wasn’t what I meant and you know it.” Jim grumbles. 

Silver laughs at him, but he obligingly leans down and rests their foreheads together. Jim lets him have that for a moment before he tilts his head back and gives one last kiss. It’s not chaste, their mouths move together in a way that precludes the impression that this is anything but romantic, but they manage to keep their tongues behind their teeth at least.

Jim breaks with a helpless smile on his face, and he turns around to walk to the door to try and hide the painfully warm blush on his face. 

“I gotta go.” He mumbles, as Silver follows him out. He can hear the man chuckling softly, at his expense, and when he turns after opening the garage door the older man is leaning against the doorframe to the house.

He doesn’t say anything, just waits for Jim to take off, and the younger man scuffs his boot on the floor as he’s picking up his bike from where it’s resting on the kickstand. 

“I’ll… see you tomorrow?” Jim asks.

Silver’s brow furrows.

“Thought ye had class tomorrow.”

“I got a suspension.” Jim says, wincing at the way Silver visibly reacts to the news. “Yeah, I know, okay. I promise I’ll tell you everything tomorrow?” 

He crosses his arms and nods, and Jim breathes a little easier. 

“Go on.” Silver says, waving his hand as if to shoo Jim out. “Don’t want your mother to have to come lookin', do we?” 

Jim smiles, starts up the bike, and zips off. 

Silver’s house is closer to town than Jim would’ve guessed. He takes a shortcut through main street, more intent on getting home before dark than enjoying his ride. Anyway, he’s had his catharsis today. 

It feels surreal, riding home after that. Like for all their words and promises Jim is going to wake up tomorrow and this will all have been a dream. His mind is in a haze throughout the drive, but with paved streets under his wheels it’s not nearly as dangerous as it would have been up in the hills, and he makes it home without issue. 

His mother is _pissed_. As soon as Jim is in the door she comes out of the kitchen and crosses her arms. Her face is hard and tight, and she gives him a sharp once over that means she’s looking for injuries.

“I know, I’m sorry I’m late. I didn’t have service and I ran into Silver...” He trails off, as her expression softens. Like magic, some of the tension in her shoulders relaxes and her arms drop to her sides.

“Jesus, Jim. When I noticed how long you’d been gone-” She’s still mad at him, he can tell. He did drop off the face of the earth for a couple hours, so he figures she’s justified in that.

“Sorry, mom.” He says, again, actually feeling contrite. She blinks at him, like she hadn’t been expecting that, and she walks closer to grab his shoulders. 

“It’s okay. You were with Silver, you said?” She sounds hopeful.

“Yeah. We kind of bumped into each other, after my bike started acting up, and he helped me fix it. It wasn’t a big deal,” He hedges, when panic edges in on her eyes again. “I just ran out of gas, but that’s why I was gone so long.” He rubs the back of his neck, hoping she won’t examine the lie too closely.

Sarah sighs again, then squints at something on his face. She licks her thumb and rubs at Jim’s cheek, pulling away a smudge of black grease. Hastily, Jim rubs his own palm over the area and finds more, probably in a lot more places than just his face. He and Silver didn’t exactly clean up after fixing the bike, Jim realizes belatedly, and they hand their hands all over each other. There’s probably a lot more grease down his neck, in potentially more incriminating arrangements. Jim pulls away from his mother’s grasp at the thought, trying to avoid her looking too closely.

“Mom, it’s fine. I’m gonna take a shower anyway.” He reasons, and she lets up.

Before he can run away, Jim gets pulled into a tight hug. He freezes, at first unsure what to do, then wraps his arms around his mother and hugs her back. It’s been a long time since he hugged his mother, he thinks, with a pang of guilt. 

“Love you.” He mumbles. They’re the same height, but she still puts her arms around his shoulders instead of under his arms, like he’s still her little boy.

“I love you too. And Jim?” She pauses, waits until he nods. “If you pull that stunt again you’re grounded for a month.” 

He winces. Yeah, mom was _really_ worried about him. He wonders what she would think if she knew what he was actually doing, then decides he never wants to find out. Silver might be a big guy, but Sarah Hawkins is fucking terrifying when she’s truly angry, and Jim has no desire to sicc his mother on either of them.

“I won’t. I promise.” 

Jim has shied away from promising anything for a long time. After those first few efforts to turn things around the words lost all meaning, and he stopped saying them. 

She sighs, and Jim thinks her arms feel a little lighter around his shoulders. When she lets go she’s composed again, and sends him off up the stairs to shower before bed.

As soon as he’s in the bathroom he locks the door and strips out of his shirt. Sure enough, when he looks in the mirror, his neck and cheeks are streaked with black. It’s faint, enough that from a distance nobody would notice, and even up close it just looks like he rubbed his face with dirty hands. Knowing what happened though, remembering it in such vivid detail, Jim can find all the vaguely amorphous shapes where fingers trailed over his skin. 

Much as he might want to see the evidence tomorrow morning, he doesn’t want to face his mothers questions, so he scrubs it all away, even double checking in the mirror before he goes into his room for the night. 

It’s only in his room that he remembers the new contact, as he’s already settling down to sleep. The single dot he sent as a stand in message earlier is still alone, and as he’s staring at it the keyboard pops up onto his screen. 

Jim bites his lip, hesitating, but his fingers move even as he’s pretending to think about it. 

_“Goodnight”_

He sends it before he has time to overthink, blushing and tossing his phone onto the bedding immediately after. His hands fly to his face, covering his eyes as he grimaces through the butterflies in his stomach. This is stupid, they already _kissed_ for fucks sake, he shouldn’t be this twisted up about a fucking _goodnight text._

Just as Jim is thinking about going to sleep without waiting for a reply, his phone buzzes and he’s scrambling to pick it up. He cradles the device in his hands like it’s a holy artifact, the glow of the screen too-bright against his eyes. 

_“Night, lad.”_

A stupid grin breaks onto Jim’s face, and he spends far too much of the rest of the night staring at the screen in the pitch dark.

* * *

Silver watches Jim ride off into the valley, and it isn’t until the boy is well out of his sight that the energy flows out of him. 

He’s no stranger to mistakes, to fucking up, but never has Silver understood with such perfect clarity what a _profoundly_ bad decision he’s made so soon after the fact. Almost the second he’d kissed the boy back guilt had wound itself around him. The shame he’s been trying to hide for weeks amplified itself. The stab of regret for pushing Jim away those days ago returned tenfold, and Silver still can’t parse if he’s sad he did it at all or angry that he wasn’t firm enough. 

Because Jim came back, even after being rejected. Silver has to wonder if he’s getting lazy, starting to slip up and tell his lies unconvincingly. Either that or the universe itself is laughing at him, and decided to drop this temptation given form onto his doorstep just when he’d started to think he had a moment to figure this out. Not that he can blame the cosmos for this, no, it’s all on him. Jim may have made the first move, but Silver wasn’t strong enough to tell him no. Not again. Not after the utter heartbreak in his eyes after the first time. 

Silver sighs, leaning heavily into the doorframe and rubbing the space between his brows. It’s an old habit, something from when he was still a boy himself, but the way it leads into him tracing the invisible scars under his skin is a significantly newer development. It’s too late to go back, now. Silver isn’t about to tell Jim to forget today, not when he can still hear the fear and loneliness on display in a single word. 

_“Promise?”_

The way the boy’s chest had shuddered in his arms at the word, like he expected Silver to abandon him at the first opportunity. He’d sounded so scared, and lonely, and Silver couldn’t stop himself if he’d wanted to. 

This makes things complicated. If Jim wants something real here - which Silver has a suspicion he might - then they’re going to have to talk. And he knows the boy trusts him, he wouldn’t be here otherwise, but Silver still knows that safe is going to be better than sorry in the long run. He needs to have a difficult conversation, and that means he needs to keep Jim from bolting at the first sign of confrontation, which is going to be tricky. Short of sailing them out into the sea, Silver isn’t sure how he can go about this without arousing Jim’s suspicion. 

Then again, the boy doesn’t sound like he’d exactly be _opposed_ to that. He winces at the idea still, at how terrible it sounds even in his own head. Regardless, he wants Jim, in any way the boy will have him, and he can’t in good conscience walk into this with Jim blind to the dangers. If, when it’s all laid out before him, Jim decides he’d rather turn Silver in, the older man won’t fight him on it. He half hopes Jim has enough self preservation to do it, just for his own peace of mind, but the lad’s track record doesn’t make that seem very likely. 

He sighs again and goes inside. The sun is starting to dip low on the horizon, so he doesn’t feel too guilty going for a drink. He needs the sharp burn down his throat, anything to get his mind off the memory of how eagerly Jim had pawed at him. Now that he doesn’t have to actively restrain himself from acting on any impulses, it’s much harder to keep his thoughts on the straight and narrow.

The strongest liquor Silver has still isn’t enough, but the harsh sting as he knocks it back is still welcome. He considers pouring himself another, then decides against it. He’s in enough of a state as it is, if he gets drunk his mind is going to be even more eager to think terrible things.

Jim had wanted it. He was panting and gasping and fucking moaning under his breath, and he probably didn’t even notice but it was all Silver could to do keep from pinning him down and pulling more of those noises out of his throat. The feeling of the younger man’s erection as he was grinding into Silver is more than he ever wanted to know and simultaneously not nearly enough to satisfy him. It’s wrong, _so_ wrong. Jim is still a kid, despite his words, and Silver hates himself all the more for wanting him anyway. 

The one week deadline was, admittedly, an act of desperation, but as he’s mulling it over Silver is grateful for his own quick thinking. He’s given himself time. Maybe, if he’s clever, he can convince the boy to reconsider. 

Even inside his own head it doesn’t sound likely, and the side of him that’s been starved for anything half as soft and sweet as Jim snarls in possessive outrage. He doesn’t want to, of course he doesn’t. The memory of Jim sleeping warm and languid in his arms, head resting on Silver’s chest and body, tucked into his side like he’s meant to fit there? That’s going to haunt him. If that’s the only time Silver gets to hold the boy like that he’s going to hate himself. But... 

Silver growls. Because he knows he’s going to hate himself even more if Jim comes to regret this. If he does something he can’t take back, and it _hurts_ the boy? That would be worlds more painful than any wistful could-have-beens. 

Jim has issues, that much has been painfully clear from day one, and as they grew closer Silver found some of those jagged edges softening. That’s his doing, he knows. The irregular talks he’s had with the boy’s mother has given him ample information about Jim’s exploits before their chance encounter, and it’s obvious that he’s been a positive influence, somehow. If this goes sour, all of that progress is gone, potentially leaving Jim even worse off than before. 

This is neither smart nor safe, but Silver knows that. The crux of the issue is getting _Jim_ to understand that. Jim doesn’t take kindly to anyone telling him what to do, and trying to convince him that this is a bad idea is just as likely to make him double down on principle. It’s not like the lad’s especially careful anyways. The bike itself is measure enough of his recklessness: some of the most foolhardy men Silver has known wouldn’t have touched the thing, but Jim is regularly pushing the vehicle past what is safe or sane. Whether it’s adrenaline, distraction, or just thinly veiled self destruction is unclear even now. His eagerness to pounce on Silver could be just an extension of whatever’s driving Jim to risk bruises and broken bones on the regular, even a half blind man couldn’t miss that.

Silver can give himself a week, he decides. He’ll let Jim come to his senses, but in the meantime he’s going to give the lad as much care and affection as he can stand. When his birthday nears Silver will run off for a few days, let both of them cool their heels and return to normalcy again. Hopefully Jim won’t be too hurt by it, and Silver will have time to think clearly. 


	5. Don't Leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim wants Silver, but something's holding him back.

Jim spends the next morning going through the motions of his routine, and it isn’t until he’s dressed, brushed his teeth and checked his phone that he remembers Silver. The recall is heady as it floods his senses, enough to make him actually a little dizzy. 

They kissed. No, they  _ made out. _ In the garage and then Silver’s couch, in the middle of the day. 

His mom gives him a funny look, as he practically runs through the house with a backwards shout of “Going to the docks!”, but she doesn’t try to stop him. Jim has just enough foresight to put on his boots before he’s rushing down the winding path to the bay. 

It’s drizzling, the rain making everything slick and slippery, and Jim almost falls on his ass several times, but that doesn’t put a damper on his spirits. His excitement is puppylike, bright and unquenchable even as he’s getting weird looks from the few other patrons on the docks. The sullen, sulking boy from a day ago is gone and Jim has never been happier to board the beat up little vessel.

He takes the stairs down to the cabin two at a time, stopping at the bottom to catch his breath after his dash through the rain. Silver looks surprised to see him, then his face twitches into concern as he takes in Jim’s state. The soaked through coat and hair, the mud on his boots and splashed up his calves, and the dirty water going further still to his knees. 

Before Silver can say anything, Jim crosses the space in a lunge and, still grinning uncontrollably, throws his arms around Silver’s shoulders in a full force hug. The older man doesn’t stumble, just catches Jim around the back and holds him as he laughs. The shaking of his chest is everything Jim has been craving and missing the past week, and he revels in pure happiness for a moment before he stands on his toes and reaches his arms further up to lock around the back of Silver’s neck. He choreographs his movements, enough that when he leans up for a proper kiss Silver leans down and meets him in pressing their lips together. 

The kiss goes on like that for a couple seconds, just a press of lips and helpless smiles from both ends before Jim gets greedy and opens his mouth for more. He’s eager, and more than ready for Silver to take control and lick into his mouth like he had before, but that isn’t what happens. 

Silver pulls away from Jim, releasing him and turning away like he didn’t notice the attempt to pry for more, even though Silver  _ always  _ notices the little things Jim does. He returns to unpacking the grocery bag as he’d been doing, when Jim thundered in.

Jim is a little confused. 

“Hey...” He mutters, and it comes out more sulky than he’d intended, but he just clears his throat as Silver chuckles under his breath, still not turning around.

“What was that, lad?”

Jim’s face burns, at the blatant amusement in his tone. Humiliation, though it’s muted and he tries to ignore it. 

“I just- I guess I thought…” He cuts himself off at another rumble of laughter from Silver, even more embarrassed now. 

“What, ye thought I was gonna forget that I told ye to wait?” Silver asks, as he turns, but the smile fades from his face as he spots Jim, the self conscious slump of his shoulders. The expression softens, turns from wry humor to something kinder, the thing that Jim can’t put a name to but that he’s seen on Silver’s face more and more often lately. 

“I know, lad.” He says, his hand coming down and covering the younger man’s shoulder. “I want it too, but we’ve got a week still ‘fore anything can happen an’ I don’t need ye tempting me in the meantime.” 

Jim wants to disagree, to tell Silver that he can do whatever the fuck he wants  _ now _ , but he knows this isn’t an argument he’s going to win. 

“My birthday’s only this weekend.” Jim mutters, but relents. He’s still looking at the floor, and he doesn’t raise his gaze until Silver catches him under the chin and encourages their eyes to meet.

Silver looks as sincere as he ever has, when Jim finally looks at him, and the lack of any derision in his gaze is comforting enough for Jim to let down his hackles again. 

“So I can’t even kiss you yet?” He sounds plaintive, and more than a little like a petulant child, and Silver laughs again. 

“Probably best we don’t, least for a while.” 

Jim doesn’t hide his frustrated groan, but he wishes he did when Silver just chuckles at him and ruffles his hair. Clearly, he’s enjoying this, at least a little bit. He wonders if Silver is this sadistic in bed, and flushes at the thought.

Silver stands fully and moves away again, leaving Jim alone in the middle of the galley. It’s then that the dampened state of his clothes really dawns on Jim, right as a gust of icy cold air sweeps down the stairwell and sends a chill through him. 

Jim shivers, and it isn’t long before Silver stops what he’s doing yet again and pulls Jim over to the table, sitting him down with a click of his tongue. 

“C’mon. Lets get you outta those wet clothes.” 

Jim’s eyes widen and he sucks in a breath, but Silver corrects before he can get too excited. 

“ _ None _ of that.” He warns. “Just don’t want ye goin’ home half frozen. Boots and coat.” He instructs, and Jim pouts but does as he’s told. 

The jacket is hung on a doorhook to dry, and Jim sets his boots on the floor, his damp socks laid out over the top. His pants are muddied at the hem, but he’s not sure either of them are ready for him to be walking around in just a shirt and his underwear yet, so he rolls them up and otherwise leaves well enough alone. He sits at the table, folding his bare feet under him to try and keep warm and watching as Silver continues working his way through putting away the supplies. 

“You’re really not gonna come help me warm up?” He asks, when the silence settles. Silver pauses again, and he sends Jim an unimpressed look as the boy smirks back at him. 

The grin disappears when the older man walks away, past Jim and into his cabin without a word. He returns not long after, and Jim doesn’t turn to look at him until he gets a blanket tossed over his head, blocking out his sight. 

“Hey!” Jim yelps in protest, and he can hear Silver laughing as he’s struggling to free himself. 

He finally throws the blanket onto the bench next to him, only to find that it’s not a blanket at all, but Silver’s coat. He bundles the heavy material up into a ball, setting it on the table and letting his hands knead into it. 

“I guess you want me to put this on so I’ll stay warm, huh?” He murmurs, with a sly look at the older man.

“That was the idea.” Silver says back, appearing not to even notice Jim’s attempted seduction. He huffs, at that. It’s way more frustrating being ignored now, knowing that Silver wants him, than it ever was trying without expecting it to work. 

Deciding he’s tired of being denied, Jim does wrap the coat around himself and sinks down in the seat, engulfed in the thick, worn leather. It’s incredibly comfortable, annoyingly, second only to the memory of sleeping laid out along Silver’s side on his couch, with fingers brushing his hair back periodically. It’s hard to stay pouty when he’s warm and comfortable and listening to Silver’s absentminded humming. 

“About that suspension…” Silver prompts, and Jim groans. 

“Yeah.” He sighs. He’d been hoping Silver would forget, but he should’ve known better. “I got into a fight, at school. It wasn’t a big deal, but when fighting’s involved the administration likes to suspend first and ask questions later.” 

“What were ye fighting over?” 

Jim shrugs, picking at his nails where his hands are still inside the coat. He’s not exactly keen to repeat the slurs that were whispered in his direction. It’s dumb, especially since most of them have been proven true at this point, but his teenage pride refused to let the challenge go unanswered.

“Some guys said some stuff. I got pissed off, and when they pulled us apart I was the one who got punished.” The unfairness of it all still fucking stings weeks later, but Jim isn’t mad about it anymore. If he was still mad about that, then he’d have to be mad about all the other stupid shit he’s been punished for while the student actually responsible got away. Being the scapegoat sucks, but he doesn’t have the energy to be anything else.

“Just you, huh?” 

Silver sounds sympathetic, and Jim stops fidgeting and instead tugs the warmth further around him. 

“Yeah, well.” He shrugs. “Nobody else heard the shit he was saying, and he’s a straight B student. Easier for everyone to blame the chronic fuck-up and sweep it under the rug.” 

Silver looks sad, when Jim glances up at him. His jaw moves like he’s gritting his teeth, an unexpected glimpse of anger from a guy who’s been (for the most part) completely amicable even when Jim was being unreasonable.

“You’re more than that, Jim. Ye know that, don’t ye?” Silver asks it quietly, with bone deep intent behind his eyes and his words both. 

He wants to believe it, but the self sabotaging instincts force him to scoff. 

“You weren’t here for the past seven years. I’m amazed my mom hasn’t torn her hair out, with all the stupid shit I’ve done. Breaking in here wasn’t my first offense, and it definitely wasn’t the worst either.” 

Melancholy settles over him. The feeling of being undeserving of any attention, much less positive seeps into his bones. If his own father didn’t even want to stick around why would anyone else?

“Everybody does things they regret, Jimbo. ‘Specially young as you are.” Silver tells him, in that tone of imparting wisdom that somehow manages not to be condescending, even when he’s literally looking down on the boy by virtue of standing while Jim is sitting.

The bitter anger the conversation has brought up makes Jim want to lash out, but he manages to hold his tongue until the urge passes. 

“What do you regret?” He asks finally. 

Silver seems genuinely caught off guard by this question. He reacts like Jim has pulled him from a place deep in his memory, and he blinks at the younger man for a few seconds before he sighs and leans heavily on the counter.

“Done a lot I’m not proud of, Jimbo. Reckon I’d give even you a good run for yer money.” 

Jim furrows his brow. That doesn’t add up. He knows Amelia did a background check, that there was nothing in Silver’s records as far as arrests once he hit eighteen. No outstanding warrants, and she’d have definitely told Jim if there were any incidents that would make her suspicious. 

“I thought you had a clean record?” He says. 

Silver’s expression of vague past regret turns to one of wry amusement. 

“Ah now, that’s the thing, isn’t it lad? Can get up to plenty of trouble, long as ye don’t get caught.” He winks, and the chilled air in the room warms slightly with the return to form. 

Jim blinks. Silver basically just admitted to getting away with whatever illegal shit he was up to in his past. Mom would probably want to know about this. Amelia would  _ absolutely  _ want to know, but Jim doesn’t want to tell them. This feels private, like a personal thing Silver is opening up to. More than that, it’s a shared experience, something the two of them have in common, even if Jim doesn’t really know the extent of it yet. It makes him feel warmer, knowing that he’s not on his own here.

* * *

Despite Jim’s hopes, the next week is disappointingly similar to the days before the shift in their relationship. He can get closer to Silver, and more often than not when he tries to kiss the man he’s allowed, but that’s all he gets. Chaste kisses, and sometimes when Silver settles down for a break Jim will scoot closer and he’ll get an arm draped around his back, but nothing more.

Jim tries to shut down the unease when it rises, but he can’t quash it completely. Doubt is bubbling up, fear that maybe Silver doesn’t want him, that he got what he needed already and he’s just humoring Jim. 

That doesn’t really make sense though. Surely if Silver was just using Jim he wouldn’t be backing off like this? At least, not so quickly. And it wasn’t like  _ Jim  _ was the one to pull away, that was all Silver. He was the one who stopped things, when they were making out. If he hadn’t Jim has no doubt he would have let Silver do anything and everything. The confusion follows Jim around, shadowing his every movement. Every time he tries to sit himself in Silver’s lap and gets rebuffed, a splash of shame and worry twists in his gut, until Silver puts him at ease. Which he always does, looking and sounding genuinely apologetic for telling Jim no, even as he stays firm. 

It doesn’t make sense, and Jim stays privately baffled all through the week until Thursday night. He turns eighteen tomorrow, and the older man’s promise to him keeps ringing in his ears with every second of silence between them. Silver must sense the change in Jim too, even if he doesn’t know exactly when the younger man’s birthday is. He seems more melancholy today, all his touches more fleeting but at the same time more longing.

Jim isn’t sure what to make of it, but neither of them says anything until the sun is setting. Jim needs to go home, if only because the tension that builds between them the more alone they are is unbearable without relief. Even still he lingers, waiting around until Silver is between tasks to announce his exit.

“I gotta go, but I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” It feels like a very reasonable question, considering how squirrely they’ve both been acting. Silver doesn’t really seem like he’s itching to take off in the middle of the night, but Jim has a whole set of trauma fixed around that incredibly unlikely and specific event.

Silver stops, looking at Jim as if he’s surprised before rubbing the back of his neck and looking guilty. He realises he’s been caught out, and when Jim steps closer for a goodbye he gets pulled into a full, warm embrace like they haven’t had for a while. It’s standing in Silver’s kitchen all over again, Jim’s whole frame aligned with every bit of the older man that he can reach, complete with a hand curling in the material of his jacket. 

Jim feels Silver nuzzling down into his hair, and when he speaks his voice is so close that even the lowest, roughest tones of his voice are easy to parse.

“I want ye to think hard about this, lad, understand?  _ Really  _ think about it, like ye promised.”

He sounds sad, and like this is a goodbye. Terror pulses through Jim at the thought, and he pulls back from the embrace with a sudden realisation. 

“You think I’m gonna change my mind...” 

Silver doesn’t say anything. His mouth hardens and he looks away from Jim, though his hands are still keeping the younger man close to him. 

The odd distance between them makes more sense to Jim now. Silver wasn’t pulling away because he had what he wanted, he was doing it because he thought that was all he was going to get. 

“Silver…” He starts, only to stop again as the man flinches slightly. 

A horrible feeling settles in Jim’s gut. Dread, fear, loneliness, a hurricane of insecurities knotting up his insides. 

“Do you  _ want  _ me to change my mind?” His voice cracks on the words even though he tries to keep his voice steady. Hurt swells within him at the thought, that maybe Silver doesn’t want this after all.

Silver turns back to face Jim quickly, opening his mouth and starting to shake his head, but he stops himself. He bites his tongue, sighing through his nose.

“Be better for both of us if ye did.” He says, but his right hand cards tenderly through Jim’s hair. He doesn’t want to let go, that much is clear. Jim can feel in the way his left hand is still splayed over his back and shoulders, the possessive urge Silver is fighting down.

Jim looks around at the ship, at the work they’ve been doing the past week. He thinks of the boxes upon boxes of food and water supplies they’ve been carrying onboard, of all the last minute things Silver asked him to do, and it’s only now that he’s realising the ship is seaworthy for the first time he’s seen it. His breath comes out in a hard, painful exhale. The kind that threatens a sob, even if no tears are present yet. 

“Silver, were… were you going to leave?” 

The older man opens his mouth again, then closes it with a sigh before starting again. 

“It’s just for a few days.” He explains, sounding pained despite his words. “Just for the weekend, keep either of us from doin’ anything reckless.” His hands go to Jim’s upper arms, rubbing slightly like he’s trying to press his good intentions under the younger man’s skin.

It doesn’t help. Jim steps back, looking away with tears building in his eyes for real. He knows why Silver is doing it, and he understands, intellectually. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel like being abandoned all over again, though. 

“But… you- you  _ promised  _ me…” That sounds incredibly childish, especially in his voice thick with unshed tears. Jim clears his throat and steps back again, wrapping his arms around himself defensively. The urge to lash out possesses him, but he manages not to snap at Silver when the man touches his shoulder. 

“Jimbo…”

“And what, were you just gonna disappear in the night?” He asks, voice more hurt than angry, but still slightly too loud. 

“No, Jim, listen to me,” Silver asks, voice firmer but still gentle as he’s stepping forwards again. Despite himself, the anger and irritation, Jim can’t find the grip on his arms anything but comforting. “It’s not like that, lad. I’m headin’ out in the mornin’, but I’ll be back in a few days.”

“Why?!” Jim cries, really raising his voice now. He sounds confused, and desperate, and he feels Silver’s fingers dig into his biceps where he’s holding Jim back, holding them apart. 

“I don’t understand…” He whispers, in the silence that follows. 

Silver stays quiet, but he lets Jim go. His hands trail up, sliding over the boy’s shoulders and his neck until they’re holding his face. It’s Silver who steps closer this time, bringing their foreheads together in what feels like a tacit apology, and Jim brings his hands to rest on the older man’s wrists but doesn’t move away. 

“Because I can’t control myself around ye.” He murmurs. “Only way I’ve stopped meself this far is because I know you’re too young, but once that’s gone I don’t know I’ll be able to hold back. Not when I know ye want it.” 

He sounds mournful, regretful.

“I don’t want you to stop. I’ve  _ never _ wanted you to stop.” Jim argues, lowering his voice but not softening it. 

“An’ what if ye do?” Silver asks back, sounding angry for the first time Jim has heard in a long time. “What happens when ye decide this isn’t what ye want?” 

“ _ If  _ I change my mind then I’ll  _ tell you _ .” Silver looks like he doesn’t believe Jim, but before he can disagree the younger man continues. “You really think I’m scared of you? Newsflash,  _ I’m not.  _ I never was.” Jim hesitates, because that isn’t  _ strictly  _ true. “Not since that first night, anyway.” He adds, in a quiet, joking tone.

He quirks a hesitant smile at Silver, who still looks pained. Jim lets the humor drop, instead going serious again.

“Silver…” Jim moves his grip, sliding his hands up and holding the back of Silvers palms, before pressing them close to his face. He nuzzles down into both palms equally, looking through his messy hair at Silver’s reaction. 

The man’s face goes from hardened and determined to one of resignation, with his eyes closed and a slow sigh escaping.

“Jimbo…” He starts, but Jim cuts him off with a kiss to first the left palm, then the pad of the right thumb.

“You’re not gonna hurt me.” Jim says, because he knows it’s the truth. Even when he was just a pissed off kid breaking into Silver’s ship, he never hurt the boy. He was harsh with him, as he dragged the thief out of his pantry, but Jim earned much rougher treatment than he got, and Silver hasn’t laid a finger on him since. 

Silver doesn’t try and argue. He pulls his hands back, and Jim lets him, only to be yanked into another hug like what he’s been missing. Silver’s hands are even more careful with him than before, cupping the back of his head in one warm hand and winding the other around Jim’s shoulders to keep him close. 

Jim allows it to be just a hug for a while, but as the tension eases down a little, he tips his head back and places his hands on Silver’s shoulders, meaningfully. The older man doesn’t fight him, this time, as he goes in for a kiss. 

It’s not chaste. Not like the kisses have been recently, anyway. Jim moves his mouth, desperate to feel Silver against him and for once he complies instead of putting distance between them. He sucks at the younger man’s mouth, tilting his head for a different angle and pushing forward when Jim reels back with a groan. 

Their tongues don’t make contact, even when Jim parts his lips and licks at Silver pointedly. The older man shakes his head slightly, his kisses turning closed mouthed until Jim relents. Only then does Silver suck at his lips again, biting down enough to hurt and make Jim whine.

The kisses slow and then stop completely as the energy in the room tapers off. Jim keeps them close by fisting both hands into Silver’s shirt, burying his face in the older man’s chest when the kisses stop. 

The catharsis of the conversation they just had is gratifying, and he feels good that it’s finally out in the open. Still, Jim is reluctant to pull away from Silver, for fear that he’ll leave for good, promise or no promise. 

Silver kisses the top of Jim’s head, and it feels very final as he mutters something about Jim needing to go before his mom comes looking for him. 

Jim doesn’t want to. A hook of anxiety tugs at his heart and stomach both, but he knows he’s just delaying the inevitable at this point. 

“I’m gonna see you tomorrow, okay?” He asks, hopeful, and a fraction of the unease abates as Silver nods. 

“Not leaving ‘til later on, anyway.” 

Jim doesn’t say anything, but sometimes it’s like Silver can smell the discontent on him. 

“Won’t ship out before I see ye, aye?” He says, solemn, rubbing a hand over Jim’s back. It helps. 

“Okay.” Jim agrees.

The walk up to the inn takes no time at all, tonight. Jim keeps looking over his shoulder at the docks, watching to make sure Silver is actually still there. He pauses at the door, lingering for a long moment just to keep the boat in his sights for as long as possible. 

His anxiety when he goes inside is unbearable, but if his mom notices him going to bed early, she doesn’t comment. He’s been quiet the past few days anyway, this isn’t out of character. 

Jim sits at the window in his bedroom for a long time. He can’t see the docks from here, but he has this weird determination that if he just watches he’ll know, somehow, if Silver leaves. It isn’t until his itching fingers dig through his phone that he scrolls to his message history with Silver.

The messages have been non-existent, since the first goodnight between them. Jim felt too awkward to continue it, but he types up a message to calm his stressed out heart.

_ “Goodnight” _

He doesn’t have to wait long for Silver to respond.

_ “Night, lad. See you in the morning.” _

Jim finally manages to swallow down his fear, on an exhausted sigh. It still takes him several hours to get some rest, but he manages to sleep at least a little bit, that night.

* * *

Jim wakes up that morning from a stress dream, and has to take several deep breaths before his heart stops hammering. It isn’t until he checks his phone and sees the message from Silver again that he truly calms down. 

He still rushes through getting dressed, fear muted but not completely gone as he heads down to the docks. His mother acknowledges his shout of “Going out!” with her usual plea to “Be careful!” but she doesn’t seem particularly concerned.

Jim had been afraid, if only slightly, that the ship would be gone when he arrived at the docks. It’s unfounded, he’s relieved to see upon cresting the hill, and he spends the walk down letting his anxiety fade. 

It’s earlier than he would usually be awake. Silver may have said he was leaving late, but Jim isn’t going to take any chances. The sun is up, but the morning fog and the frost in the air leaves everything wreathed in a grey mist that obscures the farthest mountains on the horizon.

Now that the fear is trailing off, Jim can’t help but feel bitter. He wonders if this is something he could have prevented somehow. Should he have tried harder, pushed more? Did Silver want Jim to convince him? Was he supposed to  _ seduce _ the man somehow?

Before he can come up with a plan or talk himself into doing something stupid, Jim sees Silver moving around on deck and climbs aboard to join him. 

They get right to work today, not wasting any time on the usual morning routine. Which again, makes Jim a little annoyed. He knows that Silver is trying to put distance between them, but he could at least let Jim have this morning to pretend like he’s not about to be abandoned. 

Maybe that’s a little dramatic, but he’s on edge already, and he’d been relying on having a moment of normalcy. Being denied that is just that extra kick in the jaw.

Jim watches Silver closely, all through the morning. He must notice the eyes on him, because he notices everything that Jim does, but he stays quiet. They run through the process of checking the engine, refueling, checking all the last minute vitals that make sure the ship is actually functioning and not on the verge of sinking. Jim can’t help but feel kind of spiteful when everything goes smoothly, his hopes of Silver being kept from running away dashed.

He has Jim tie down or pack away anything that isn’t already nailed down. He does as he’s told, but only half heartedly, and as slowly as he thinks he can get away with. Anything to delay the inevitable, even by a few seconds. 

The sound of the engine idling from the hull gives Jim the information he needs, that it’s nearly time. All that’s left is for Silver to make sure the younger man’s work is up to par, and then he’s setting off for real.

Silver comes down into the galley, as Jim is inching his way through locking up the cupboards. He spares a moment to look at the boy, a gaze Jim can feel like a physical weight along the back of his neck, but he says nothing and moves into the machine room, taking some of the tension with him. 

Jim sighs. This isn’t how he’d wanted this morning to go. He had hoped that they could make the most of this time together, fall into the rhythm from before, but he’s been too upset to even really want to look at Silver. It doesn’t help that the older man is ignoring him too, though it’s a different breed. Unsure apology rather than apathy, and that in itself is comforting. 

When Silver comes out again Jim stands up to face him, tucking his hands into his pockets and hunching his shoulders. He doesn’t want to leave things like this. If they’re going to be apart for a few days, he’s gonna say goodbye properly, damn it. 

Silver pauses, fingers curling and uncurling restlessly a few times. Neither of them knows what to say, here.  _ “I’m sorry”  _ doesn’t make sense, because neither of them are. Silver is doing what he thinks he needs to, and Jim just wants to be near him. 

Instead of words, Silver holds out a hand, as if for a stray dog to sniff. 

Jim smiles, despite himself. He steps past his hand to hug the man, and already the world feels better. Silver doesn’t hesitate, wrapping both arms back around Jim and squeezing him, just a little. Enough for Jim to feel him like he hasn’t since that first night, that hint of roughness underneath that gentle exterior.

“You don’t have to go.” Jim says, trying one last time even though he knows it’s futile. 

Silver’s chest hitches, just for a second, just enough for Jim to get his hopes up, but then he sighs and tightens his grip around Jim again.

“Ye know I do.” He responds, and for once Jim doesn’t have it in him to argue even though he desperately wants to.

It’s Silver who breaks away first, pushing off from Jim but keeping a hand on his shoulder to lead him up the stairs, like he has to keep a leash on the boy. 

The lines tethering the ship to the docks are already prepared for departure, Jim is dismayed to see. All Silver has to do is tug the loops and the ship is free. Without that last formality to separate the prepwork from the actual unmooring, everything is thrown into even sharper relief. The sun’s rays have started to penetrate the cloud cover, though it’s still below freezing and will be for most of the morning. 

Silver pats him on the back.

“G’on home, Jimbo. Try an’ stay outta trouble for a few days, an’ I’ll be back ‘fore ye know it.” 

He’s being shooed off, clearly. The bitter anger rises in Jim, suddenly, but he bites his lip and dismounts the ship without saying anything. He’s not going to cry, either, he tells himself, as his eyes sting. 

The docks feel unstable today. Or maybe that’s just Jim being off kilter. Either way, he steps back from the edge, wary of falling into water colder than ice. He doesn’t run home, though. Jim elects instead to stay and watch Silver depart, as if that’s going to hurt less than having it happen behind his back. 

The gurgling whirr of the engine is well known to him, after spending so much time testing it this week. The ship comes to life under Silver’s hands, where he’s working everything like he’s done this a hundred times before. It’s fascinating, watching him in what is so clearly his element, enough almost for Jim to forget the turmoil crashing around within him. 

The first lines go without fanfare, pulled back onboard and coiled efficiently before being dropped to the deck, out of the way. Jim’s eyes fix on the last one, watching it so closely that everything else kind of fades, so it takes him a second to notice that it’s not being pulled as it should. 

Jim blinks, switching his gaze to Silver only to find the older man looking right back at him, meeting his eyes for the first time that morning. He blinks, but it looks more like a wince to Jim, and he tries to tear his eyes away, but that just ends in their roles being reversed, Silver now staring at the rope in his hand and Jim at the other man. 

_ “What is he waiting for?” _

Jim watches, not daring to hope but his chest starting to feel tight with  _ something _ , as Silver looks down at the floor. His brow furrows, eyes closing on what looks suspiciously like a sigh. 

He drops the rope and turns, meeting Jim’s eyes and looking for all the world like he knows he’s making a massive mistake. 

He jerks his chin towards the boat, a rueful smile playing on his mouth, and Jim’s heart  _ soars. _

The ship has drifted slightly, being moored only at the very front, so there’s some distance between the ship and the docks that wasn’t there when Jim disembarked. Without a heartbeat of hesitation Jim backs up one step and takes a running leap forward, stumbling onto a crouch on the deck of the ship and scrambling upright.

Silver catches him by the forearms, when he rushes into him. The older man is laughing, and he looks briefly skywards as if in a plea for strength before he looks down at Jim again. 

“Sure ye wanna come along?” He asks.

Jim doesn’t dare kiss him out in the open like this, not when word could very easily get back to his mother, but he has no qualms about grabbing the loop of rope keeping them from drifting off. 

The line disconnects, unravelling from it’s place on the dock and some of it dropping into the water, but Jim doesn’t fucking care. 

“Alright then.” Silver says, like it’s his final word on the subject, and turns to go into the relative shelter of the helm. 

Jim, still grinning wildly, follows him. 

* * *

It takes them most of the afternoon to get out into open water. Silver is reluctant to push the ship very hard, and that makes for slow going. Mostly, he can admit to himself, he’s stalling, which is part of why he tells the lad to go below decks and leave him to finish up. It’s not late in the day, even if the sun has set and cast everything in shades of dark blue by now, but with all the work they’ve been doing it may as well be the dead of night. 

He waits around on deck a little longer, after he shuts off the engines. A few checkups wouldn’t go to waste, even if he’s mostly lingering to keep distance between Jim and himself. 

When Silver comes down into the galley after finally running out of things to do, Jim has already dozed off in his regular seat at the booth. 

He’s sitting upright, this time, arms crossed over his chest like he was waiting for Silver. His head is bent down at an awkward angle, leaning on his right shoulder. It’s not surprising that he fell asleep after the restless day they’ve had, especially because Silver doesn’t doubt for a second that Jim had trouble sleeping last night. Running a ship even this size would be hard work for anyone. Silver would have managed on his own, of course, but Jim is young and, before they met, he probably hadn’t had a day of truly hard labor in his life. 

Silver doesn’t begrudge him that, or the exhaustion that’s driven him to rest while he can. His heart swells with affection at the sight of the boy, breathing softly but not snoring. Jim doesn’t snore except in short, snuffling bursts, Silver has discovered. He made a deliberate effort not to listen in, when the boy passed out in the ship the first two times, for fear that knowing what Jim looks like sleeping might do terrible things to him. When the lad passed out on his couch after kissing him though, Silver didn’t bother to try and keep his distance. He’d watched Jim closely, cataloging every minute twitch of his facial features and each sound that fell from his lips, and he does the same now.

Jim’s phone is dimmed but open where it’s face-up on the table, and when Silver taps it he can see a short series of missives between the boy and his mother, alerting her to the change in plans. He can see some discontent in the older messages, but Jim seems to have calmed her by the end of the exchange. 

Silver shakes his head and drops to his good knee at Jim’s side, to get a better look at him. He’d noticed lines under the boy’s eyes, when he showed up at the house last week, but they seem to have vanished now. 

In the silence, kneeling next to Jim and studying the younger man’s face where it’s lax with sleep, Silver has a moment to wonder what the hell he’s doing. He hadn’t meant to take Jim with him. The fact that he has rather soundly defeats the purpose of leaving altogether. He knows Jim is turning eighteen soon, if he hasn’t already. 

Silver is well aware he’s only outgrown  _ some _ of the reckless abandon from his younger years. Plenty is still remaining, and clearly on display with the fact that he’s let Jim be here, on the ship, with nobody else around to force them to think logically and make good decisions. But his resolve, that hardest of things that has stood the test of time and outlasted other men’s will, crumbled to dust at the sight of Jim alone on the docks. He’d looked so scared, and lonely, and  _ damn  _ him, so  _ young,  _ and Silver couldn’t have left without him if he’d tried. It felt like having his chest cleaved in two just thinking about it, and he’s had more experience with that than most. 

He rubs his eyes, already exhausted. There’s nothing for it, now. Jim is here, and the only course of action left is for Silver to tell him. Give the lad all the information, and let him decide from there. 

Just… in the morning, when Jim isn’t dead on his feet. 

Jim mumbles, when Silver places a hand on his shoulder, but he doesn’t stir. Not until Silver gives him a gentle shake. Jim gasps and jerks his head up, yanked unceremoniously out of sleep and understandably groggy.

Silver catches him where he topples forwards, making soft, soothing noises and letting the boy come to his senses, at least somewhat. He’s still blinking around with confusion, but he isn’t trying to push Silver away, and when he finally speaks he sounds coherent enough, for being half asleep still. 

“Silver?” He slurs, squinting through the light. 

“S’okay, jus’ me.” He says back, rubbing a hand over Jim’s back where it’s bowed towards him. “Gonna take ye to bed, can ye stand up for me?” 

Jim doesn’t answer, but he drops his head onto Silver’s shoulder and groans. Which is an answer in itself, he supposes, if not the one he’d expected to hear. For such a violently independent little shit, Jim seems to be perfectly at ease being carried around.

Not that Silver is going to tell him off for it. He’s spoiling Jim he knows, by caving to him so easily, but Silver could not care less. The feeling of the younger man sleepy and happy in his arms is reward enough. He can allow himself this, tonight. Hold Jim close and make him feel wanted, cared for. 

Silver walks Jim into his cabin and lays him on the bed for the third time, only now he doesn’t feel guilt nipping at his heels when he considers staying. It’s alright for them to share a bed, expected, even, when they’re at sea like this.

Peeling back Jim’s coat reveals a loose black shirt, halfway untucked from his pants. Silver is tempted by the slip of skin he can see where the garment has ridden up, but he refuses to do more than stare for a couple of heart wrenching seconds before he forces himself to move on. 

It’s like he’s a teenager all over again, getting half hard at just a glimpse of skin. Silver snorts at himself, self deprecation entwined with shame, because he’s not even sure Jim knows the true extent of what he does to the older man. 

He unties the laces of Jim’s boots, pulling them and the socks off but leaving everything else on. His primary concern is comfort, right now, rather than getting the boy naked. Much as he wants every inch of skin bared to him, those baser instincts will have to wait. 

Jim doesn’t move, likely already asleep again as Silver strips himself down. He doesn’t bare himself all the way, just enough to match Jim, with a quick shirt change after he checks that Jim is really unconscious. 

If having Jim asleep on top of him on the couch was euphoria, curling up alongside him on a bed is fucking heaven. Silver’s heart already feels full to bursting as he wraps an arm loosely around the younger man’s shoulders, but when Jim turns and burrows into his embrace? That melts it completely. A half heard and only barely spoken mumble reaches Silver, but he doesn’t pay it any mind until after the slurred  _ “dad-”  _ and  _ “-please...” _ breaks the silence. It sounds strained. Distressed, almost. A nightmare, must be, or something like it.

Silver runs his fingers through Jim’s hair, stroking it away from his temples and reveling in the selfish pleasure of feeling the lad relax under his touch. His hair is stiff from salt on the top layer but soft underneath, and slowly his breathing settles into uninterrupted rest.

“That’s it, Jim. I’m here.” He breathes, through the sudden feeling that this can’t be real, even though he can touch and hear and see the boy still cuddled up to him. This is far too good for him to deserve, not after all the shit he’s done. 

But Silver is nothing if not a greedy bastard, so he resolutely tucks his nose into the top of Jim’s head and spitefully savours the moment, for however long it will last.


	6. No More Holding Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some privacy at last.

Jim is used to spending his morning with Silver, to a degree. They were together more days than not during his summer vacation, after all, and an early start was one of the stipulations of his mentorship. True, Silver got a little lax with that as time wore on, but he impressed upon Jim the importance of being if not  _ on  _ time, then at least only reasonably late. They ate together, a lot of mornings, and Jim has woken up in the cabin here multiple times now, not to mention all the casually affectionate contact he’s had here. The point being, it shouldn’t be  _ that  _ weird to wake up in the same bed as Silver. 

Which makes Jim all the more embarrassed when his first reaction upon waking is to blush furiously and look for an escape route. 

The bed in the cabin is not large, by many standards. Jim very quickly discovers that he has been relegated to the side adjoining the wall, his bent knees brushing up against it when he moves more than a few inches. 

A weight at his back is what alerts him that he’s not alone. Which makes sense, realistically. There’s only one bed, and it’s not like they’re exactly frigid towards one another. Silver sleeping next to him is perfectly reasonable, and even something Jim had been hoping for, at some point. 

He turns over, having to maneuver carefully in the small space to not disturb his bedmate, the other man laying like a barrier between Jim and the outside world. Eventually he manages, and the sight when his eyes adjust to the dimness is kind of mesmerising. 

Jim has seen Silver at ease, before. He’s seen the man settle in for a smoke from time to time, unraveling from a long day. Still, this is different; Silver isn’t just relaxed, he’s dead to the world. For the first time, Jim is witnessing Silver in his unconscious state, and he’s a little stunned at how incredibly vulnerable he seems. How unbelievably  _ human _ . He always seems so much larger than life, even in those quiet moments between the two of them.

There’s a few inches between their bodies, under the sheets. Something nervous twinges in Jim at the thought of closing that distance, but as Silver stays unaware he works up the courage to shuffle closer and burrow into his space. 

Silver makes a noise in his throat, when Jim lets his forehead touch to the center of the older man’s chest. A grunt or a hum, impossible to tell. Either way, the right hand moves from where it’s curled in the bedding to lay heavy and pleasant over the dip of Jim’s waist, encouraging him closer. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.” Jim mumbles, scooting more fully into his grip regardless.

Silver laughs slightly, and the harsh, gravelly sound of it in the early morning sends a wonderful little zip of pleasure down Jim’s spine.

“More’n worth it, ‘f it means waking up to you.” 

Jim sometimes wonders if Silver’s charisma is comes naturally or is an act of some kind. If his first words in the morning are this charming, Jim thinks it has to be the former.

He hopes, as they’re cuddling and working their way towards waking up, that something might nudge them in a more sensual direction, but all Jim gets for his efforts is a chaste kiss and a cold bed.

He follows Silver out into the galley, immediately shivering. Normally when he’s here he’s dressed for the weather outside, but walking from the cabin into the rest of the ship in just his shirt and jeans reveals how painfully chilly it gets outside of the confines of the blankets. 

Silver seems unaffected, even in just a thin undershirt, so Jim takes the opportunity to steal his coat once again, drawing it around him like a cloak. He elects to sit on top of the table instead of at the booth, giving him a better view of Silver as he’s moving in the kitchen. 

The older man is unusually quiet this morning, and Jim isn’t sure what to make of that. He doesn’t seem angry, just… contemplative. In his own head. He wonders if them sleeping in the same bed gave Silver second thoughts.

When Silver finally comes around the counter and sits, Jim turns from his spot on the table to face him, letting his calves hang off the edge either side of the older man’s knees.

“Hey.” Jim says, quietly.

Silver shakes his head, like he’s clearing it of fog, and looks at Jim for the first time since they left the cabin. He looks surprised, like he somehow didn’t notice the boy sitting there until that moment, and then he sighs with a smile like he’s been caught out.

“You okay? You looked kinda distant, there.” Jim says, voice still soft.

Silver blinks at him, unreadable, and then quickly looks away as he pulls out his pipe and starts packing it. Jim watches, not saying anything all through Silver lighting the smoke and leaning over to open the window beside them.

“Did I?” He responds, as he’s taking the first drag, and already he sounds more like himself.

“Yeah.” The icy morning breeze that filters through, but Jim can’t feel it beyond a brush of cold on his cheek. Silver seems to notice that he’s wearing the other man’s coat for the first time, his eyes tracking up and down Jim’s form before he smirks to himself, looking away again. 

They sit like that for a moment, just existing in the same space. It’s shaping up to be a slow morning, and Jim is okay with that if it means he gets to sit here and bask in the heady, herby scents he’s come to enjoy. 

The pads on the right hand ghost over the back of Jim’s calf as he bounces his foot in the air lightly, and he lets Silver cup his leg and draw his foot upwards. It’s such a simple thing, barely even counting as touch, but their closeness makes it feel unbearably intimate as the index finger traces Jim’s achilles tendon. 

He doesn’t try to hide it when he shivers, because Silver touching him even in the most innocent of places is a high all on it’s own.

He’s sitting slightly above the other man, this way. Jim has to bow his back down to be on level with Silver, and even then the relaxed, reclined posture keeps distance between them. Jim’s eyes move to track the smoke, when Silver exhales towards the window. The faintly acidic smell is better than it has any right to be, and he leans into it with his eyelids falling half closed in pleasure.

“Lookin’ for a hit?” Silver asks through a chuckle. Jim shakes his head.

“Nah. Just like the smell.” He breathes deeply when Silver takes another pull, this time not turning away from Jim as he exhales.

“What's it smell like, then?” He asks in a low rumble. The intensity of his stare paralyses Jim. He’s totally unable to move or look away, and thinking is a slower process now. 

“You.” Jim answers, because it’s true. He doesn’t know enough about the smoke to identify individual flavours, and he’s not sure he wants to. He’d rather keep the heady mix as one entity, in his mind, present only when Silver is around. 

The absolute honesty in his reply draws a short, warm laugh. Silver grins up at him in total adoration as his thumbs make the same caressing motions on his pipe as they do on Jim’s ankle. 

“Oh, yer too damn cute for words, sometimes.” 

Jim ducks his head, flushing and looking away until Silver tugs on his leg gently to get his attention again. He looks up and finds Silver sitting up, beckoning the boy in with one curled finger of the hand still holding the pipe, and his other sliding up the exposed skin of Jim’s leg as far as his pants will allow. Jim complies wordlessly, leaning down until the back of his neck is captured in a broad palm and Silver slots their mouths together like they were meant to fit. 

The smokey, wispy scent is much more concentrated, up close. Jim can feel it stinging in his nose and the back of his throat, but he doesn’t care. It feels good, and he wants more. 

Jim tries to deepen the kiss by moving his lips and making a soft whining noise until he can lick into the older man’s mouth. He’s allowed in, and the flavour sharpens instantly, bitter and harsh but smooth at the same time. He doesn’t get to experience that side of it for long, in short order Silver is turning the tables and forcing Jim on the defensive as he brute forces his way in, his hand pulling Jim into a better angle as he caves to the assault. 

“Good boy.” He rasps between their lips, before diving in again. Jim makes a choked noise and tilts his head farther back, his mouth dropping open in surprise and sudden arousal both. He tries to tamp down on the reaction, but he’s too late. 

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that.” Silver purrs. Jim gasps again.

“Fuck...” Even that comes out strangled.

Jim grunts softly, tempted to hop off the table and drop himself into Silver’s lap, but before he can act on it the older man stands up to lean over the object of his attention. He looms over Jim like this, powerful and predatory and in control when Jim is none of those things, and it’s almost enough to make the younger man faint. 

He manages to spread his legs and hook an ankle behind Silver’s knee, but then Jim can’t think past the tongue sweeping into his mouth and the hand petting his thigh. The other hand holding the pipe moves from the back of Jim’s neck to his chin, and the smell is so powerful when he’s practically breathing it. Silver is kissing the will and defiance out of Jim, and he loves it.

Silver pulls away from him, leaning back to take another drag from the pipe, and it’s all Jim can do to stare dizzily up at him. As soon as the older man exhales Jim reaches up to kiss him some more, but he just gets a low chuckle for his efforts.

“Impatient.” Silver teases, as he’s taking his sweet time setting down the pipe where it’s out of the way. 

“I’m horny, and you’re not making it any easier.” Jim breathes. His eyes refuse to open all the way, but that’s fine. He likes the way Silver looks, in the half light and dim focus. 

Silver breathes in hard, and Jim didn’t think he could want him any more than he already does but the low noise he hears from the other man’s throat makes already tight pants even more restrictive. It’s somewhere between a sigh and a hiss, with a hum at the end as Silver turns away. His eyes are firmly shut, like he’s fighting the urge to do something stupid. 

“Jimbo-” He says, like he’s trying to reason with the boy, and Jim wants to scream in frustration that after all this time Silver is  _ still  _ being so careful, but he doesn’t. He holds his breath and bites his tongue, waiting for Silver to figure out what the hell he wants to do here.

Silver breathes in, a long, even stream, and only after several seconds does he look back at Jim. 

“You’re sure this is what ye want?” He asks, looking at Jim askance, like he’s afraid to hear the answer.

“I  _ want  _ to climb you like a fucking tree, but all you’re interested in is giving me blue balls, apparently.” Jim snaps, frustration edging his voice. He’s been trying to let Silver into his pants for the last week and a half, what the hell more does he want?

Silver laughs in relief at the sharp reply, clearly not half as repentant as he should be. He moves casually, grabbing Jim by his thighs and sits in the chair behind him, settling himself and pulling the boy onto his lap in one move. Jim flails a bit, panicking about the sudden loss of balance even as Silver is leaning back in satisfaction. 

Jim shuffles around - when he’s sure he’s not going to fall on his face - and plants his feet on the floor. The added stability helps him feel less out of his depth, even if he very much  _ is _ . 

The excitement from before has suddenly shifted back into nerves again. He’s so wired up that when Silver’s other hand touches gently at his waist, Jim jerks away from it and squeaks. The older man snorts at him, the mechanical hand catching Jim by his arm as he over balances, two points of contact barely keeping him in Silver’s lap.

“Sorry.” Jim mutters, looking down and face burning with embarrassment. 

Silver is quiet for a long moment, and when Jim finds the guts to look up again he seems to be searching for something, in the younger man’s expression.

“Ye don’t have to do nothing ye aren’t comfortable with. Ye know that, right Jimbo?” It’s concern, on his face, and maybe a bit of guilt, but Jim is so relieved that it isn’t annoyance he doesn’t care.

“I know.” He puts all of the meaning he can into the words. They’re heartfelt, he needs Silver to understand how much he wants this, that he knows he can back out anytime, but that he doesn’t  _ want _ to.

With that, Jim forces the tensed muscles of his thighs to relax, allowing his legs to part slightly and make obvious the bulge in his pants.

Silver’s gaze shifts instantly, flicking down then back up in quick succession. Hesitance turns to surprise and wonder, and this time when hands close around his hips Jim doesn’t jump away. He smiles, wrapping his arms around Silver’s shoulders more shyly. They’re closer together, like this, faces just inches apart, but Silver doesn’t tell him off or otherwise object for once, so he lets himself relax like that. 

The right hand retreats from his side, and as Jim is still sitting there Silver takes the jacket from where it was left on the table and draws it around the younger man’s shoulders again. It’s far too big, when he slips his arms down into the sleeves only to return them to Silver’s shoulders, but he doesn’t care. He’s surrounded by Silver in the most literal way possible. It’s even better when he lays his hands around Jim’s back under the material, the open lapels like a curtain hiding their contact from the outside world. All Jim can feel is  _ safe  _ and  _ happy  _ like he hasn’t had for ages. 

Jim hasn’t felt  _ small  _ in a long time. He’s just slightly below average height, for a guy, so most people aren’t  _ that  _ much bigger than him. Silver, of course, is the exception, and Jim can’t deny that he’s incredibly drawn to that. He could carry Jim off and have his way with the boy, and Jim wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing about it, and he  _ likes  _ the idea. Silver would never do it, obviously, but the knowledge that he  _ could  _ is all sorts of thrilling.

He’s grinning, wild and excited because he’s finally getting somewhere, so the slow drop of Silver’s expression is more than a little disheartening. The hands on his back soften their grip, turn hesitant.

“We do have to talk about this, lad.” Silver says, and his voice sounds solemn now. Jim pulls back to look at him, a small tangle of fear building in his gut, because this sounds serious.

“Okay. What- uh... What are we talking about?” 

A harsh exhale from Silver moves his chest, and Jim starts to shrink in on himself but the hand that rubs up and down his back brings him to center again. 

“Let's start with expectations, first of all. Figure out just what you’re wantin’ from this, ‘fore we get to the hard stuff.” Silver explains.

“Right. That… makes sense.” Jim says as he looks askance at the room. It sounds so simple, when it’s put like that. 

“I want long term.” Jim says, in as firm a voice as he can muster. “A long term relationship, I mean. Not just…” He shrugs. 

Silver nods.

“Alright by me. Exclusive?” 

Jim is kind of caught off guard by that question.

“You mean like, only dating each other?” Silver nods. “Yeah. I mean, I’m not opposed to a-” Jim gulps at the idea of a threesome, cheeks burning hot. 

“Lets get through this ‘fore we start planning for a third party.” Silver brings his focus back, but he’s smirking wickedly and there’s a faint color on his face that wasn’t there before. Jim thinks,  _ “Noted.” _ then shelves the discussion for later down the line.

“Yeah, exclusive. That’s fine. Great.” Jim decides to move on, forcing his mouth to move before he can overthink his next question. “What about protection? Like… is that something we have to worry about?” That sounds naïve even to his own ears, but Silver doesn’t make him feel bad for asking. He’s taking this seriously, which helps it feel less intimidating.

“Had a clean bill of health last I checked, but s’usually better to be safe than sorry, least ‘til we can be sure.” His thumb is rubbing small circles into Jim’s shoulder under his shirt, which is distracting but also really nice, so he doesn’t mention it. 

“I’m all clean. Mom even made me get the HPV shot.” He laughs, rubbing his neck. “It’s not exactly like I’ve been sleeping around, anyway…” 

Silver chuckles, pulling Jim a bit closer. He has to actually lean back to keep their chests from touching now, not that he does. 

“Still, we’ll play it safe for now.” Silver hesitates, then, “Ought to talk about positions, while we’re at it.” 

“Positions?” Jim asks, flushed and flustered. “Like, topping versus-” For some reasons the word  _ bottoming  _ refuses to form in his mouth.

“Exactly.” Silver confirms, clearly noticing Jim’s struggle and taking pity on him with only a slight smile.

Jim knows what he wants, the thought that flashes into his mind immediately is as good as confirmation. But saying it out loud, asking for Silver to fuck him? That’s terrifying. Not even considering the logistics of it, it’s way more daunting than any of his previous fantasies had been before he met the man. It’s not like he was hard to please, especially when he was picturing a hot guy giving him head. The miniscule amount of gay porn he’d watched was not done especially in detail, either. Jim was never intentionally picturing himself as one of the participants, he was usually just looking for fantasy fodder, and would shamefully click away as soon as he got what he needed. 

That all changed with Silver, though. Now he knows  _ exactly  _ what he wants to happen, and the idea that it  _ could  _ actually happen? It’s a mixed bag of excitement and fear.

“I mean… I don’t- um...” The words aren’t coming to him. How the fuck is he supposed to say anything with a straight face and without a stutter? 

Fortunately, Silver guesses why Jim is fumbling through his words, and steps in after a few seconds of lip biting silence.

“Ye don’t have to decide right now, lad.”

Silver is giving him an out. He’s telling Jim that it’s okay if he’s clueless, even if it really isn’t, and Jim has never appreciated him more. 

“Is it too sappy to say I’ll do whatever, as long as it’s with you?” 

Jim kind of expected Silver to laugh at him, for that, especially since he has a small chuckle for himself, but he doesn’t. The man’s expression goes warm and makes a surprised noise that sounds more like a cough, looking away. He’s smiling with a look of exasperation in his eyes, and Jim’s face burns with pleasant heat. 

The left hand goes from Jim’s back to his cheek, pulling him in until their foreheads are touching. 

“Can’t get over how  _ damned  _ good ye are.” He mutters, as Jim hugs his arms tighter around Silver’s shoulders. 

Jim shrugs.

“I know you’re not gonna hurt me. So... yeah. I trust you to help me figure this out.” 

Silver swallows, hard enough that Jim hears it. It sounds like he’s choking back something, or fighting a lump in his throat, but his voice is clear and gentle when he speaks again.

“No, Jimbo. Won’t let anything hurt ye long as I’m around.” 

That hits like a bullet through the lung. That promise, that decision, it strikes Jim hard enough that he collapses in the spine and lists into Silver’s shoulder, laying his head down and nuzzling into the worn cotton of his shirt. He sniffles, because he’s pathetic and even the barest hint of affection makes him unravel like pulling on a loose thread, but Silver doesn’t chastise him. He murmurs a wet laugh and lets his lips rest on Jim’s head, on the space just behind his ear and above his neck. 

“ _ God.  _ Sorry, I don’t know why I’m...” Jim whimpers, laughing at himself through tears. Silver clicks his tongue, stopping him from continuing to talk himself down.

“S’alright.” Silver murmurs, running his hand up the length of the boy’s spine to thumb at his neck. “To tell ye the truth lad, it’s kinda sweet how easy you are to fluster up.” 

It’s half jest, and Jim sniffs hard again and shoves lightly at the man’s shoulder. 

“Asshole.” He mutters, but he’s smiling, and they both know he doesn’t really mean it. 

They stay like that for a minute, just long enough for Jim to rub away the wetness in his eyes and not look like he’s been crying when he finally sits up again. 

Jim half expects to be gently rebuffed, when he goes in for a kiss, but the hold around him just tightens as Silver returns the gesture. The warmth of the organic arm stays firm where it’s supporting Jim’s back, but he can feel the right tracking up his side and over his chest, stopping in the center of his sternum. Silver moves the arc of his fingers around slightly, obviously searching, then pauses right over where Jim know his heart is pumping away in his ribcage.

Jim pulls away from the kiss with soft, wet noise, frowning slightly as a thought occurs to him. He brings a hand back and cups his palm around the back of Silver’s hand gingerly, holding it in place just as the older man goes to drop it again.

“Can you feel me? With this, I mean.” He taps the hand, just to be sure they’re on the same page. Silver nods immediately, pressing in and swiping the thumb pad over his stuttering heartbeat again.

“Not as well as this’un,” He flexes his left hand. “But I can feel ye. Got touch, temperature and all on this rig.” 

Jim doesn’t try to hide his surprise, at that. As far as he’d been aware this kind of thing was still mostly in the theoretical stages. He’d posed the question expecting maybe some element of pressure sensitivity, but from the sound of things Silver can feel him pretty well. 

His hand wanders down the forearm. He’s been up close, before, but only rarely  _ this  _ close, and never with the intent to explore. He can see every imperfection in the metal from here, and every minutiae of the construction down to the thinnest, finest wire. 

“This is… some advanced shit.” He murmurs. 

Silver hums, apparently pleased with Jim’s awe. Jim, for his part, can’t even be bothered to hide how utterly fascinated he is. He’d considered engineering before, as a career path. Given his skill with the machinery of his bike it had seemed viable, but his grades weren’t exactly paving the way for him there, so he’d given up on it a while ago. Getting to see something so drastically different to anything else he’s seen, or maybe anything in the world, it kind of brings that spark back to him.

Jim is jogged from his investigation when Silver speaks again.

“I got lucky. Friend of a friend happened to be a professor in the field, after the accident he was kind enough to donate his time.” 

The way Silver says it ticks something in Jim’s mind. The intonation is slightly off, the way Silver says ‘donate’, but he dismisses it as nothing. He’s way more interested in the details of the rig itself, anyways. 

Jim takes his time examining everything within his reach. When he trails his way up to Silver’s shoulder he pauses, unsure.

“How far does it go?” Jim can’t help asking. His hand is hovering just below the collar of Silver’s shirt, and he lays it down over his chest to feel for the place where flesh becomes metal. 

“Awful personal question there, Jimbo.” He hears, and Jim snaps his eyes up, ready to take it back if he’s gone too far, but Silver is just looking at him with a knowing smirk. He relaxes, rolling his eyes and letting his hand feel around a little more.

“I think we’re a little past personal, after  _ that _ conversation.” He can’t feel anything different, under the shirt, and it’s annoyingly hard to see where the transition happens, too. Before Jim can really throw caution to the wind his hand is caught around the wrist and peeled back.

Jim looks at Silver, worried again that he’s overstepped, but the amused smile is still all he sees. 

“I could show ye, but I think I’ll let ye wonder for a while. Gotta leave something to the imagination, don’t we?” He grins wider when Jim blushes. 

The idea of Silver ‘showing him’ is enticing, and collecting himself after that particular temptation is fucking difficult, but Jim manages to smirk back. 

“Hey, that’s fine. I’ve got a few surprises of my own.” 

That gets the reaction he’d been hoping for. Silver blinks, then his eyes narrow and he gives Jim a curious once over. He’s searching, but Jim has kept his rebellion hidden this long, so he’s not about to give it up now. He smiles broadly back, finally on the offensive side of this and loving every second of it.

The hand still warm on the back of his neck squeezes. Not enough to harm or threaten, but enough that a thrill runs down Jim’s spine and his reflexes lean him back into it. Silver looks like he’s debating something. 

“Silver?” He asks, when the older man’s eyes darken and focus on the wall past Jim’s shoulder.

Silver’s eyes return to him, and that serious look is downright unnerving when it’s so focused on Jim. There’s something like guilt in his eyes, but it feels deeper than what Jim is used to, from him. He’s seen shame a lot this past week, whenever Silver pushes him away after kissing. This isn’t that, and he’s kind of at a loss.

“Jimbo, I…” He trails off, looking away with a wince. Jim’s hand, still held captive in the mechanical fingers, is released almost meekly, and Jim wonders if he might already know what Silver is so twisted up over.

“You know my birthday was yesterday, right?” He asks, not quite a shot in the dark. By the reaction it garners, he’s hit on something close to his target. Silver’s jaw clenches, and when he looks back at Jim there’s a wild glint in his eye. He looks unsteady, knocked off kilter by what Jim has just said, and the hard resolution in his expression wavers visibly.

“That’s not-” He starts, with a bitter smile, but Jim has had enough of being denied and he grabs the older man’s collar with both hands and yanks, hard enough to surprise the man if not physically silence him.

“Silver,” He whispers, voice soft in contrast to the unyielding grip of his hands. “Please, just kiss me already.” 

Jim has seen Silver look ready to give in, before, but for the first time since that day on the floor of the garage, he witnesses the sheer euphoria of Silver finally releasing his iron self control. 

The left hand stays on the back of Jim’s neck, but the right goes down to his hips, dragging Jim forward so effortlessly that it takes his breath away. A snarl escapes between gritted teeth, hungry and overtaxed and if Jim couldn’t already tell Silver was at his limit, that would have given it away in a heartbeat. 

“ _ Damn it all. _ ” The older man hisses, harsh and angry, and before Jim can comment he’s slamming their mouths together in a kiss that makes Jim yelp with surprise. Without hesitation, the already minimal fight within drains out of him. Jim can feel the need in the bruising grip Silver has him in, and he has no interest in breaking it. 

He’s still wrapped up in the coat, until Silver decides he’s had enough of that and hooks his fingers over the back of collar to tug it down. Jim lets it slide from his shoulders, letting out a helpless, pleading noise as he’s left in just his thin t-shirt and jeans. The cold wind is much sharper, without the warmth insulating him. Even Silver’s arms around him aren’t enough to keep Jim from shivering, goosebumps rising all over his arms. 

They’re still kissing, Silver working their tongues together like he’s trying to knot them up, and Jim can’t keep himself still anymore. He rolls his hips, grinding them together and panting into the kiss when Silver’s hand tightens even further, fingers digging into Jim’s hip but not stopping him like he did on the couch a week ago.

“I wanna fuck.” Jim blurts, in one of the rare breaks for air between deep, hungry kisses. His lips feel sore and bitten, and he has to swallow down a whimper when Silver pauses before going instead for his throat. 

“Y’ever done this before?” Silver murmurs, into the sensitive skin of Jim’s neck. The low tones he’s speaking in are only making it harder for Jim to stay conscious and not get lost in the haze of desire surrounding him.

He manages to shake his head, licking his lips and eyes fluttering as Silver sucks just above his collarbone. Silver hums in response, leaving a gentler kiss on top of the already reddened flesh, and Jim forces his vocal cords to move. 

“What about you? Have you ever done it with...” He blushes, and he can feel a curl of a smile along his throat. “...with a guy, before?” 

Another hum, and Silver picks his head back up to look Jim in the eyes.

“Oh, aye. Plenty.” He says, in a tone that can only accurately be described as a purr. 

Breathing becomes a concerted effort suddenly, as their gazes hold. Jim is paralysed, frozen in place until another shiver wracks his frame, this one obviously from the cold.

The want and readiness in Silver’s face banks, somewhat. Not gone, but softened, biding it’s time. His smile turns warmer, as he rubs his hands over Jim’s upper arms. 

“C’mon. Know just the thing to warm ye up.” He says, patting Jim’s leg and jerking his chin towards the cabin.

Jim stands up, hardly believing his luck when instead of making a joke, Silver does the same. Jim moves towards the door, stopping and turning to find the older man closing the window and setting aside his pipe before following.

Jim is standing in the doorframe, facing Silver, and a powerful tremor races down his spine as the older man takes a step towards him. 

The walk isn’t long, but the hallway takes up the length of the ship, so Jim has plenty of time to catch his breath as Silver approaches. He doesn’t, lungs staying frozen in his chest, paralysed with something warmer than fear but still cold to the touch. He witnesses the shift in the older man’s demeaner, going from calm and collected as ever back into that place that feels predatory, dangerous. 

Jim doesn’t mean to take a half step back, but by the time he registers his own movement he’s already shuffling into the cabin backwards. Silver doesn’t stop or slow, but Jim sees the quick movements of his eyes as he watches the younger man, no doubt scanning for signs of unease. 

Jim can feel his pulse in his throat, and when he tries to stop himself and let Silver approach he can’t. The prey drive takes over and forces him to stumble back another step, and it’s only through a herculean effort that he manages to move at a half pace and not run outright. Sparks are dancing over his skin, it feels like. Senses all on high alert, Jim can feel himself running out of room to walk backwards but he doesn’t stop until his heel bumps against the bedframe behind him. 

He swallows, trying to ignore the electricity pooling in his belly and failing, only stoking it more. Silver isn’t even doing anything, just walking towards him but the intent rolling off him is enough to make Jim shake, helpless. 

Hands make contact with his arms before closing around his wrists, keeping Jim in place as Silver takes those final short steps to close the distance. He forgets, sometimes, just how much smaller than the other man he is, but with them standing toe to toe he’s forced to tip his head back to meet Silver’s eyes, and Jim is completely immobilised except for the erratic slamming of his heart and the quick, uneven breaths pulsing through his chest.

“Ye look scared, lad.” Silver rumbles, a playful smile replacing the deadly serious expression of before. His right hand moves up, one finger tracing a line up the middle of Jim’s throat and stopping just under his chin, holding his gaze up. 

“I’m not,” Jim answers, though his stomach flips in disagreement. “Keep going.” 

The intensity in Silver’s eyes dials back, somewhat, relaxing and letting Jim breathe easier. One wrist is still held in Silver’s flesh hand, and the grip loosens enough to trail up his arm and close again around his shoulder. The thumb keeps moving, rubbing back and forth over the thin cotton of Jim’s sleeve.

Jim lunges, grabbing Silver’s shirt and bracing one foot on the bed frame as he leans up onto his tiptoes, into a kiss. His mouth falls open and his tongue sticks out, and he moans loudly as Silver meets his waiting mouth with a snarl. 

Silver pushes, and Jim caves. He tips back, leaning over the bed and held up by his hands fisted in Silver’s shirt and his foot still behind him, until his balance gives out and he has to sit down or risk falling over entirely. Jim sits, neck still cranked back and mouth open as gravity pulls him from the kiss. 

As soon as his ass hits the bed he lets go, fumbling his hands behind him and scooting back into the mess of blankets, away from Silver until his back hits the wall. He expects Silver to chase him, to drag him back by his ankle or pin him down to the bed, both things he would welcome. The rising tide of arousal is making him dizzy, and he needs to release the tension or Jim is sure he’s going to burst an artery or something.

Silver doesn’t move forward. His hands go to the back of his neck, grabbing the collar of his shirt before yanking it forward and letting it drop, along with Jim’s lower jaw. 

Shirtless. Silver is standing in front of him,  _ shirtless _ . For weeks upon weeks Jim has been fantasising and guessing about what it would look like, and now he’s finally getting to really look at Silver without all of the clothing in the way. 

Jim’s eyes go to the right shoulder first, tracking over where his hands had been just minutes earlier. The mechanisms extend farther than he would have assumed at first glance, part of Silver’s chest and the right side of his ribcage enclosed within the metal plating and wire. When the older man moves it flexes, shifting fluidly and easily, and Jim is a little awestruck by it. 

The transition from artificial to organic happens abruptly, a jagged line of scar tissue that curves slightly from Silver’s shoulder to under his arm, occasionally spider-webbing out. Jim follows the scars across the breadth of the older man’s chest, noticing that they get thinner and fewer, replaced by healthy, warm toned skin and less hair than Jim expected. He’d noticed the leg before, but Jim never considered just how high the prosthesis went. He can see a curve of a scar along the outside of Silver’s hip, over the waistband of his pants, though nothing below that to indicate the full extent of the injury.

He wants to lick and kiss along the scars, feel the heat and metal under his tongue in one swipe. Silver looks like he’s survived more than his fair share of harm and Jim is sensitive to the fact that there’s probably a lot of trauma to go with each mark, but at the same time it’s so fucking  _ hot  _ that it’s all he can do to keep from drooling like a hungry dog. 

“Oh  _ fuck. _ ” Jim whines.

Silver grins, leaning forward until his hands make contact with the bed and he’s bent down towards Jim.

“Movin’ too fast?” He murmurs, and the words might be comforting but all Jim can hear is the want in Silver’s voice.

He shakes his head, vigorously. Silver’s smirk widens, and he rests one knee on the bed next to the younger man’s thigh. His left hand reaches up, carding through Jim’s hair and getting a good fistful before he tugs slightly, baring Jim’s throat and earning a soft gasp. 

When Silver climbs onto the bed fully he releases Jim, and they rearrange so that Jim is laying back into the pillows, with Silver kneeling over him, knees between the younger man’s thighs. 

They’re kissing, again. This time Jim is the one caught under Silver’s body, and he’s spent so long thinking about their makeout on the couch that he never stopped to consider if the positions had been reversed. Silver is bigger and taller than him and heavier besides, and it should be uncomfortable to be pinned like this, but it’s not. Jim reaches both hands up for him, letting himself be covered by the older man’s body and kneading his hands into Silver’s shoulders and back. All of his moans keep getting swallowed up, whimpered into Silver’s mouth and covered by the wet sounds of their tongues sliding together. 

Jim ruts his hips, accidentally at first and then he keeps going, rubbing his hard-on up against Silver with weak cries slipping out between them. He’s shaking, starting to have trouble breathing evenly. The slow build of heat in Jim’s core is only climbing and he wonders if Silver is going to let him come like this. 

He rolls his hips harder, and Silver takes that as his cue to back off, literally and figuratively. Jim whimpers at him as he rears back, sitting up on his heels and keeping the younger man on the bed with a gentle push into his sternum. 

“Sure you’re ready for this?” He asks. His hand is at his fly, playing with the opening of his pants, and Jim’s eyes fix on it. He feels a little hypnotised, watching it. The tension of waiting for him to just pull out his dick already makes him breath harder. 

“I’ve been ready for a week. Just show me already.” Jim snaps, trying to sound annoyed instead of desperate. His eyes are still wide and transfixed, vision tunneling so much that he doesn’t notice Silver’s other hand until his own cock is springing free. 

Jim gasps, because the cabin is cold and his dick is out in the open now, hard and straining against his stomach. A little droplet of precome dribbles out, sticking to his shirt and leaving a nearly invisible dark spot on the black fabric. 

The sound of a fly coming down alerts him that he’s gonna get his wish, and Jim snaps his eyes back up to watch as Silver pulls out his dick. 

It’s… okay, yeah, it’s pretty big. It’s a full inch longer than his own at least, and thicker around by… a lot, probably. Proportional, he thinks hysterically, and then he swallows when he realises how incredibly he’s underestimated, here. That thought is enough to sober him slightly, bring him down from the whining, moaning wreck of a few seconds ago. 

“Eating your words now, lad?” 

Silver sounds smug, which makes Jim want to disagree just on principle.

“No.” His voice cracks tellingly, and he clears his throat.

“It’s not that big, stop looking so proud of yourself.” Jim grouses, reaching down to stroke himself. He’s not fully hard, and he’s slightly self conscious in the wake of seeing the other man’s dick, that his own isn’t as substantial.

Silver doesn’t look offended, and actually laughs at Jim’s reply. He doesn’t say anything, just shifts forward until their hips are nearly touching and his cock is laying warm and hard against the younger man’s knuckles.

It’s a power move, Jim is aware, and he glares up through his fringe at Silver.

“Show off.” He mutters.

“You’re the one who wanted to measure, Jimbo.” He purrs.

Jim turns away, reaching for his jacket where it’s laying on the floor and making a frustrated noise when Silver doesn’t move to let him grab it. 

“I’ve got a condom in my pocket, if you wanna…” He trails off as the older man chuckles at him again. Gentle fingers trace from his forehead to his temple, brushing back his hair. Jim’s cheeks heat up and he looks away, biting his lip. 

“Were ye thinking something was gonna happen here, lad?” Silver sounds like he’s laughing, but his tone isn’t entirely derision. 

Jim shrugs, giving up on reaching his shirt and the condom within. Condoms, really, he had been hoping every time he went to the boat since their makeout that he might get lucky and hadn’t known what kind would work, so there’s several options scattered throughout his pockets. 

“I mean, if you’re not interested…” There’s that nervousness again, rearing it’s ugly head. He wants so badly for Silver to fuck him, but saying as much seems like bearing his soul too much for comfort. 

Silver reaches over him without saying anything, and Jim follows his arm as he pulls open one of the drawers built into the bedframe. Peering over the edge of the mattress he can see a sizable stash hidden within. Condoms, lube of several kinds. Shit, there’s even a neat coil of rope in the back. 

That gives him ideas for later, but Silver doesn’t immediately reach for the rope. He plucks a foil seemingly at random and grabs a small bottle of lube and drops both onto Jim’s stomach, closing the drawer and simultaneously giving the boy time to process. 

“Now who’s planning for things?” Jim mutters. He’d intended it to come out sly and playful, but he just sounds kind of scared.

“Don’t misunderstand me lad, this’s been here long before we met.” He says, momentarily serious. Jim appreciates the sentiment, even if Silver has clearly misunderstood the origin of his nerves. 

“Maybe I should’ve raided this when I broke in.” He puts a little extra sultriness into his voice, to make up for the fearful sound of his last statement. “At least I would’ve had something to walk away with.” 

Silver’s smile reappears, and Jim relaxes. He flops back down onto the bedding, calm and loose limbed, until a sly edge cuts Silver’s look and he zeros in on Jim, planting his hands either side of the younger man’s hips.

“Jus’ how are ye wantin’ me to use this, lad?” He asks, and he damn well already knows the answer, but he’s gonna make Jim say it anyway because he's exactly as sadistic in bed as Jim had predicted.

“I-” Jim gulps, swallows through a mouth that feels dry and sandpapery. His eyes flick down, to where their dicks are still almost touching, before darting back up to find Silver chuckling. 

“Gonna have to speak up, Jimbo.” 

Jim glares, and the little spark of defiant anger pushes past the shyness that had been tongue tying him. 

“I want you to fuck me.” He blurts, words coming out in a jumble. His cheeks burn, but the determination in his tone makes Silver’s grin turn from teasing to affectionate, almost impressed, and that alone is worth the momentary sting of humiliation. The right hand moves from the bed to Jim’s stomach, plucking at his shirt until it rides up to reveal a sliver of his waist and stomach.

“Gonna have to get rid a’ this, ‘f that’s what ye want.” 

Without a moment’s hesitation Jim grabs the hem of his shirt and yanks it off, throwing the bundle of fabric across the room and then blushing at his own eagerness. The condom and lube end up in the comforter, thrown off in Jim’s excitement, but Silver doesn’t move to grab them, and he doesn’t comment aside from a low laugh, eyes wandering down Jim’s chest with all the open curiosity the younger man had held for him. 

Jim knows he’s less physically impressive than Silver, but the look of awe in the other man’s eyes doesn’t shift or fall away. His hand moves, skating over the barest curve of Jim’s belly to the peaks of his ribcage, which become more prominent as Jim arches his back into the touch. His pecs aren’t well defined, something which has long been a point of dissatisfaction for Jim, but the way Silver moves his hand up over the muscle pushes those fears to the back of his mind. 

The wide spread of Silver’s fingers almost completely covers him, shoulder to shoulder. He keeps trailing his hand and eyes up, fixing briefly on Jim’s collarbones before his attention is grabbed by the younger man’s left shoulder. 

“What’s this, then?” He asks, tapping lightly on the tattoo in the middle of Jim’s deltoid. 

“Told you I had some secrets of my own.” He replies, twisting his arm forwards to show off the small black constellation of the little dipper, with the north star singled out as larger than the rest. 

Silver snorts, tracing his finger over the tattoo again, reverently. A faint smile is pulling at his lips, soft and like he can’t believe his luck, that he gets to touch Jim like this. 

“Thought ye had to be eighteen to get one’a these.” He says, with a sly look at Jim. 

“You’d be amazed what a fake ID and twenty bucks can get.”

“Oh, bet your mother  _ loved  _ that.” Silver crows.

“Mom hasn’t found out yet.” Jim says, smug. 

Silver laughs, but it isn’t the hearty bark Jim is used to. It’s lower, more gravelly, and  _ fuck  _ that sound is everything he wants to hear right now. He’s so caught up in the moment that he forgets, for a second, that he’s supposed to be getting naked. It’s Silver’s other hand that brings him back to the matter, as one finger hooks under the waistband of his jeans. 

He doesn’t pull them off, not yet. Jim lets the smile fade from his lips, sucking in a breath as the metal hand stops tracing the shape of his illegally gotten ink and skims back down. Collarbones, pecs, ribs, stomach, and Silver slows when he reaches Jim’s navel and the trail of hair that leads down. 

His dick is already out, just inches away from the other man’s hand, so Jim doesn’t really have any reservations about wriggling out of his pants. He’s still in his boxers anyway, so he’s really only exposing his legs up to mid-thigh. The tight black spandex of his underwear does leave less to the imagination than his loose fitting jeans, but it’s not like Silver isn’t going to be seeing that part of him anyway, so it’s fine.

A gust of air gets Jim’s attention, and when he looks up Silver is staring down at him. 

“Look at  _ you _ .” He murmurs, and Jim doesn’t know if he was meant to hear that or not. 

“Are we gonna do this or are you just gonna stare at me all morning?” Jim prompts, when Silver doesn’t move to touch him. He’s uncomfortable, shy all of the sudden. The blatant adoration feels different than having lust directed at him, it’s less clear how he’s supposed to react to that.

Silver hums, amused at Jim’s impatience, but he grabs the condom and moves things along. Jim grabs for the lube, but Silver tsks and shakes his head. Jim makes a face at him, petulant and annoyed, but he lets it drop and lays back on his elbows to watch, eyes wandering over Silver’s bared chest while he waits.

Jim is distracted from his musing as Silver unwraps the condom and rolls it out to it’s full length on his fingers. He wonders briefly if Silver has some weird trick for putting it on, and then his train of thought is cut off when the other man takes a pair of angled shears from the drawer and cuts off the tip, then splits the tube of the condom down one side and flattens it into a sheet.

“I don’t think that’s how you’re supposed to use that.” Jim mutters.

Silver gives him a look that warns to be patient, but he’s smirking knowingly. 

“Roll over for me.” He says, clearly a command even if the tone is soft. 

For once, Jim obeys without complaint. He twists around on the bed until he’s belly down, his legs having to part around where Silver is sitting. He props himself up on his forearms, looking over his shoulder to watch whatever is coming next. 

His field of view is understandably limited, like this, so all he can really see of Silver is his leering smirk as he’s eyeing up and down the younger man’s bare spine. His right hand rests on Jim’s ass, pressing at it and drawing a groan in response. 

Jim really wasn’t sure where Silver was going with this, so when his boxers are suddenly yanked down around his thighs, he tenses up and protests without thinking. Thankfully, either Silver doesn’t hear him or is revelling in his surprise, because the organic hand parts his cheeks without so much as a warning. Jim balks, face burning as he’s trying to adjust and get a view of the proceedings, even as he can feel and hear Silver moving himself around. 

The first new sensation is something being smoothed over his hole and the cleft of his ass. It’s not hard to guess what, by the feeling of lube sticking to the plastic, but Jim is still kind of at a loss until he feels a broad stripe of warmth slide over the makeshift dam. 

He moans, burying his face in the pillow to hide his feverous blush as Silver licks him again, this time pressing a kiss to the space just below his hole after, like he’s teasing. The right hand is still holding the waistband of his underwear down, keeping Jim’s trembling thighs close together when he wants desperately to pull them further apart. 

“Oh _ fuck _ …” He whines as Silver licks more delicately around the edge of his hole. He’s never thought of a tongue as  _ precise  _ before, but the feeling of the very tip tickling around the rim cannot be described as anything else.

“How’s that, Jimbo?” Silver asks, between kisses. His other hand goes from holding the boy’s cheeks apart to scratching his nails lightly down Jim’s back, earning another shudder and goosebumps rising in the wake of his touch. 

_ “Fuck.”  _ Jim yelps, as he feels the older man mouthing lower. His underwear is tugged further down to his knees, and Jim finally is able to part his legs shamelessly as Silver lets him maneuver free of the confines.

“Talk to me, lad. Can’t know what ye like if ye don’t tell me.” He purrs. 

Jim cries out again at a thumb pressing his perineum, words escaping him. He’s fully hard now, his dick trapped between his stomach and the bed, and he rocks his hips for friction until Silver’s metal hand tightens on his side and pulls him up for a better angle. His cock is left languishing, bobbing in the air in time with his panting and the jerking twitches he can’t stop. His knees are braced on the bed as far apart as Silver will let him move them, and his toes curl up in a flinch as the older man rubs at his balls with his free hand.

“Oh god.” Jim breathes. It feels fucking amazing and he’s not sure how long he has before he comes all over himself. 

“Good?” Silver coos, squeezing a little and making Jim hiss with pain and pleasure at once. “Tell me ye like it, Jim, or I might have to stop.”

It’s a threat disguised as good intentions, and Jim feels his stomach clench. 

“I like it.” He whimpers. “It feels good, don’t stop. Please don’t stop.” He’s mumbling, his cheek mashed into the bedding. He can’t even hold up his head anymore.

Another lick across his hole makes him groan, and then Silver hums and presses the tip of his tongue against the opening, pushing with just enough pressure to make a small shriek escape Jim’s throat. It’s just a second and then he’s relenting, kissing at the rim instead and his right hand massaging Jim’s hip where he’s holding the boy up against his mouth.

He keeps going like that, licking inside and humming as he has Jim spread open. Jim can’t even feel the condom separating them, just heat and lube and spit dripping down from his ass as he’s being stretched. And he has no illusions about the purpose of this, he knows this is Silver preparing him, but that does nothing to lessen the rush of arousal or quiet his wanton moans. 

Precome is starting to pool under him, on the bed. Jim is stifling his noises by biting into the pillow, only partially succeeding. He still sounds like every vocal bottom he’s ever heard from porn, and the thought makes him even more embarrassed but he can’t stop even if he bites his tongue. Silver doesn’t seem to want him to, anyway. Every time Jim makes an effort to go quiet the older man changes his tack, teasing or biting Jim, or playing with his cock until he gives in and lets out a wail, arching his back for more. 

He’s trying to quiet himself down again when Silver decides enough is enough, and he pushes his tongue in so deep and far that Jim actually shouts, so loud that he’s endlessly glad they’re out at sea and not at the docks, where somebody might come running. It’s not a pained sound, far from it, and Jim is left shaking when Silver pulls away with a filthy, wet slurp and chuckles at him. 

“Christ, that got a reaction, didn’t it?” Silver says, pleased with himself. He presses one of the fingers on his left hand against the stretched rim, as if testing. 

“Silver…” Jim whines, shaking and twitching. 

“I know, lad.” He says, in a softer voice. Both hands move to Jim’s flanks, rubbing them up and down. “Needed ye all warmed up ‘fore I went any further, but from the looks a things ye can’t take much more a that without goin’ off.” 

He’s teasing Jim, but it isn’t derision in his tone. He sounds pleased, voice dripping warmth and affection. He takes his hands away, and the bed shifts as he moves his frame to cover Jim and talk right in the younger man’s ear.

“If you’re ready to come jus’ say the word.”

He’s giving Jim an out, letting him off without needing to actually fuck. As much as his hormones jump at the chance to release, his determination digs in it’s heels and balks at the idea of giving up so easily.

“I wan’ you t’fuck me.” Jim slurs, face still half mashed into the pillow. His desperation shows in the strain in his voice, the angry edge to it. He squirms, pushing his ass up and pressing them together.

Silver’s chest expands, at his back. A breath of laughter, released in a surprised huff, and then he nuzzles into the boy’s nape and kisses over his shoulders. Jim can feel Silver’s hard-on, where it’s rubbing against the back of his thighs, and he cants his hips up to feel more of it, to let it rub between his legs and maybe touch his own. 

“Listen to you, begging for it like a good boy.” Silver rasps. Jim gasps and is nodding before he’s even really processed, overwhelmed with how good it feels to hear Silver praising him. 

He’s bodily flipped over, the dam removed and Jim pulls his legs up into a halfway bent position, spread as wide as they’ll comfortably go. He notices that Silver is still wearing his pants, but his dick is no less hard and now wet at the tip with precome, showing that he isn’t as unaffected as he seems. 

The lube finally comes into play. Silver picks it up and pops the cap, coating his fingers with what looks to Jim like way too much, but he doesn’t say anything. The leftover lube from the condom is still slicking up his entrance, but nonetheless Silver takes the time to smear more over the rim in small circles. 

Jim had barely even noticed Silver stretching him, when he was being licked open, but it’s obvious now. He feels looser, his body open at a resting state. All the same, the tip of a finger pressing into him is a lot. It’s solid and blunt compared to the soft, precise warmth of Silver’s tongue, and his natural instinct is to resist the unfamiliar touch with everything in his body.

“Easy now.” Silver rumbles, bowing down towards Jim as he speaks. He slows the movement of his hand, massaging gently while he waits for the boy to calm down again.

Jim grunts, staring up past Silver and forcing himself to focus on staying relaxed. 

The slight pop as Silver finally pushes in makes Jim gasp and tense up in a full body flinch, focus be damned. The penetration feels intrusive, and not entirely comfortable, until Silver strokes his other hand down the boy’s side and whispers comfort.

“Shh, Jimbo, s’okay. You’re doin’ so well for me, just relax.” 

The soothing cadence of his voice helps Jim to unclench slightly. He lowers his eyes from the ceiling and feels tears building in them as Silver keeps talking. 

“Breathe, lad. Just breathe. Got one inside, won’t do any more ‘til you’re good an’ ready.” He promises. The slow, even breaths he’s exhibiting help Jim to calm down as he matches them. 

“Okay.” Jim pants, nodding.

“Good lad.” Silver murmurs back, rubbing his finger around inside slightly. The movement makes Jim tense up, but he tamps down on the instinct and relaxes again. 

The noises he makes as Silver rocks slowly in and out of him are somewhere between relief and pain. It doesn’t hurt, but Jim’s gasping is hard to mistake for moaning in pleasure. He’s feeling uncomfortable at best, at the moment, but the liberal application of lube and Silver’s patience means he’s loosening up. 

A second finger prods at Jim, testing the waters. It’s already slicked when it presses at his entrance, but Silver still pauses before going forward.

“Ready to try for more?” He checks, making eye contact with Jim as he does. 

Jim gulps and gasps, but nods. 

“Yeah. Go slow, but… yeah.” 

His semi-reluctance must show in his voice despite his best efforts, because Silver stops everything. He uses his other hand to cup Jim’s chin and force his eyes up. 

“Jim, if ye aren’t ready I need you to tell me.” His expression and voice are both serious, and when Jim’s eyes start to slide away he draws the boy’s gaze back to him with a gentle squeeze. 

“I know.” He mumbles, shy from being chastised, even so gently. “I’m nervous, okay? But I know you won’t force it, so I’m ready to try for more.” 

Silver doesn’t look entirely satisfied with that, but he moves his second finger in a slow circle under the younger man’s entrance. He’s pushing without really trying to squeeze it in, rubbing at the sensitive rim until Jim’s noises lose the anxious lilt to them. 

He kisses Jim, working his tongue into the boy’s mouth and rumbling at him to relax, that he’s doing so well. He keeps pushing at the ring of muscle, rubbing at it until it gives way with a hitching squeak from Jim. 

“That’s two.” Silver whispers.

“Two…” Jim hiccoughs, with a disbelieving laugh. It’s snug again, inside, uncomfortably so, but the sudden thrill that rushes through his body helps relax him against the foreign stretching feeling. The pure adrenaline of being split open on Silver’s fingers has him drugged up like he’s high, even though he’s as sober as ever.

“Two fingers.” Silver affirms, looking proud. “Keep breathin’ for me Jimbo, you’re doin’ so well.” 

Jim nods again, licking his lips when drool threatens to pool out of his mouth with his desperate panting. 

His hands are shaking, where they’re fisted in the blankets. When Silver rocks his fingers in and out slowly, Jim yelps again and reaches one hand out to clutch at the other man, managing to catch the left bicep and dig his fingers in hard. He needs something to ground him, right now, something real and warm and substantial, and the sheets are too malleable, too easy to twist around. Jim holds on to Silver, even though he’s laughing at the younger man’s expense.

“Silver…” He grits, thrashing his head on the pillow as the fingers push deeper, stretching him even more. His erection had been flagging, losing steam as he was dealing with discomfort rather than pure pleasure, but not even the occasional burning of being pushed to his limit is stopping him anymore. 

The next finger slides in to the knuckle, and Jim doesn’t even notice until Silver stops with a low rumbling laugh. He crooks his fingers slightly, worming them further in still and Jim can’t breathe. He knows how this works, what Silver is searching for, and his whole body is fucking trembling with anticipation. 

“There we go, lad. Almost there. Keep breathin’ for me.” He sighs, and Jim thinks he hears a slight catch in Silver’s throat. A tremor, tiny but present. 

His fingers keep moving, slipping in and out in slow rhythm and dragging over Jim’s inner walls. Slowly, the pleasure intensifies. Not a sudden lightning bolt, just a gradual increase until Jim is whimpering and rolling his hips in time, all fear and pain forgotten. 

“That’s it, isn’t it Jimbo?” Silver growls, voice hard and hungry, and Jim can only claw at him in response. 

“Fuck, it’s-” Jim’s voice cracks. He wants to melt into a puddle and just let Silver fuck him to completion like this, but he’s been staring at the older man’s dick for half an hour now and he’s going to have that if it fucking kills him.

“Not gonna last, Silver-” He cuts off, keening as Silver pushes in as deep as he can and his body just  _ takes it _ without so much as a twinge of pain. “Fuck me. Your dick, inside, fuck me  _ please. _ ” 

Without so much as a clever reply, Silver pulls his fingers back and pushes his pants the rest of the way off. Then he reaches over Jim, pulling a fresh condom and rolling it on with none of his usual charisma or flair. Jim keeps moving his hips against nothing, turned on enough that just the act of moving is making him bite his lip to stifle a moan. The cap on the bottle of lube makes a pop, as it’s opened, and Jim watches it drop to the bedding once it’s closed as Silver slicks up with a snarl. 

They pause, in that second. Jim is a limp, loose wreck on the bed, heart thumping so hard he can feel it in his throat. Silver is looming over him, left hand on his cock and the other he lays on the bed at the elbow, carding shaking fingers through Jim’s hair in a small act of care as he’s about to ruin the boy.

Their eyes are locked. It’s dimly lit, and in the soft light from the window Silver looks wild, out of control for the first time Jim has seen him. He’s breathing hard, mouth open and organic eye wild, dilated in the relative darkness. Jim is terrified and in awe of him all at once, and he brings his legs up to rest behind the older man’s thighs to try and break whatever spell has fallen upon them. 

Silver blinks. He takes a slow, long breath in, like he’s about to expend a massive amount of energy, and he moves his whole body forward in one, fluid motion. 

He doesn’t slam himself in, like Jim initially fears. He moves carefully, with precision, and it doesn’t take Jim long to figure out why. Despite the stretching, Silver is big. His fingers are similarly large, but even to the base they’re not really comparable to his cock. The head slips in without much resistance, and Jim lets out a breath of relief before Silver keeps going, sinking deeper. The girth feels nice, where it’s stretching Jim open, but when Silver passes the place his fingers had stopped Jim gasps and flinches, feeling like he’s been hit in the spine.

He looks down, between his legs, and finds to a mix of emotions that Silver still has a few inches to go.

Silver doesn’t shove deeper, but he doesn’t stop moving either. He rocks in place, pushing the limit with gentle, small thrusts that ache as much as they feel good. Jim makes a noise in his throat, objection mixed with a plea for more, but he can’t make a single word form.

“Still don’t think it’s that big, Jimbo?” Silver asks, through laboured breathing.

Jim glares. Or, he tries to. The panting, whimpering moan that escapes him can’t help Silver take him seriously. Not that he was doing that in the first place. No, he seems far more interested in Jim struggling too hard to reply than actually coherent.

“Y’know, for such a small thing, ye do make an awful lot of noise.” He says, like he’s casually observing this and not currently sinking his cock into the younger man.

Jim growls at him, and that’s about the limit of his vocalisations at the moment, because Silver takes that opportunity to push in another half inch, silencing any witty comebacks in the process. 

“Good lad.” Silver adds, as he’s working Jim through this new limit. His right hand has stayed put all throughout, and he pets the younger man’s sweaty hair back from his face. It’s unbelievably tender, and somehow more intimate than literally being buried inside of Jim. They slow, for a moment, both seeming content to bask and just soak in the affection.

“Breathe.” Silver reminds him, and Jim doesn’t even have a second to comply with that order before he shoves in, this time going further than just a short thrust. It’s still not more than an inch he presses in, but Jim shouts and feels panic welling up when he wonders what the hell Silver is doing, going so far. 

The top of the older man’s thighs move flush with Jim’s ass, and he stops there, both of them breathing hard. Silver is fully inside him, now, every inch, and he doesn’t roll his hips just yet, letting Jim adjust to the length.

It’s _so much_. Jim just sort of lays there, his legs shaking and chest shivering more than heaving, his breaths are so quick. The pain isn’t bad, little more than what he’s been dealing with already, and the sudden fear of before abated almost instantly. Everything is floaty and distant right now, something like shock setting in as he realises that Silver is really all of the way inside of him.

“How’s that feel?” Silver asks, his grip on reality sounding just as tenuous.

Jim wants to laugh, or cry, or reach down and jerk himself to completion already, because  _ fuck  _ it feels like everything he’s wanted and nothing he’s ever had. 

“Full.” He hiccoughs, eventually.

Silver laughs, but it sounds strained. He lowers his head, kissing Jim’s neck and shoulder and scratching his fingers through the short brown hair but not moving yet, just letting his cock lay warm and heavy against every inch of the younger man’s insides.

The pain fades, like a bruise when it’s no longer being pressed on, but it doesn’t renew itself when Jim squirms. He moves slowly, wary of hurting himself, but all he feels when he pulls his body away and then rolls himself back is  _ full _ . No pain stabs him in the belly, nothing that hurts more than a very tiny ache, but he’s been hard and ready to come for almost thirty minutes now, and that is starting to take precedence. 

“Jim…” Silver groans, when Jim whimpers and writhes around, needy. He sounds like he did the night Jim ran off, before their kiss. Like he’s warning the boy off, but this time there’s no backing out.

“Fuck me.” Jim begs, throwing his arms over Silver’s shoulders and scratching at his skin. “I want you to fuck me.” He snaps, through gritted teeth, still moving all the while. His rocking motions are growing more erratic, his dick bouncing against his stomach and leaking precome everywhere. 

Silver pulls back slowly, dragging out of Jim by an inch and sliding back in, just as careful. It’s not thrusting, not really, but the slightest increase in speed and depth both as he keeps going is promising. 

The first true thrust makes Jim gasp, and the next amplifies the sound into a moan. He’s stretched and sore from the process, but his legs just wrap as tightly around Silver as he can to hold on. 

The sweet spot from when he was getting fingered open has been neglected, for the past several minutes, but it comes back into play now. Silver changes the angle, actually moving in a way that could accurately be described as fucking now, and they both groan when he finds the right spot. Every sweeping thrust shoves over it, renewing Jim’s pleasure and making his muscles tense against the stimulation. 

“Fuck,  _ fuck- Silver _ , right there…” His voice is almost unrecognisable. The force of the pleasure rushing through him has left his throat thick and croaky. 

“ _ God,  _ ye feel so good around me.” Silver hisses, between harsh groans.

Jim wasn’t really expecting any dirty talk, at this stage of the game, so when Silver starts speaking in that tone gravelly and rough with hunger, it takes him by surprise. His dick jerks up, yet more precome beading at the tip, and he knows he’s not gonna last.

“ _ Ah, hah-  _ harder…” He pleads, as he starts to backslide from the peak of his pleasure. He takes a hand away from clawing at Silver’s shoulders, wrapping it around his cock and milking it, only half aware of his own body.

A savage laugh is all the verbal response Jim gets, but Silver slams inside with the next thrust, pulling a grunt and a scream from both of them respectively. Jim’s voice wavers, pitching higher and broken up whenever Silver rolls his hips into the boy.

Jim doesn’t even have time to warn Silver, he’s already coming. His voice cuts off on a shaky whine, hot jizz splashing all over where their stomachs are pressed together. Silver’s movements stutter, halting for a half second before he pounds into Jim even harder, baring his teeth against the younger man’s shoulder as he fucks him through the aftershocks of orgasm. If Jim had the presence of mind to care about anything he might be embarrassed at how quickly he came, but he doesn’t. All he can do is gasp for air past whimpering cries, overwhelmed as his pleasure is drawn out.

When Silver comes Jim is too out of it to really even notice. He hears the deep, wounded gasp against his throat, and feels it when Silver pumps in and stays put, but he can’t find the energy to react aside from a weak, kittenish mewl.

The only sound in the cabin is the two of them catching their breath and the waves slapping against the hull. The clock out in the galley ticks faintly, and Jim listens to it and feels his eyes closing. He’s pinned under Silver, one hand on the back of the older man’s neck while the other splays out on the bedding at their side. He’s totally limp, as relaxed as he’s ever been, maybe more. The post orgasmic bliss is amplified by Silver echoing his panting, as they come back down from the high.

The metal fingers thread through Jim’s hair again, and he rolls his eyes lazily down from staring at the ceiling to look at Silver, when he props himself up a bit more. He looks wrecked too, short hair disheveled and his good eye unfocused, but he manages a gentle smirk as he meets Jim’s openly awed expression. 

“Attaboy, Jimbo.” His voice is quiet and cracked, in the wake of all their noises, and Jim thought that he liked hearing Silver talking dirty, but that doesn’t even hold a candle to the sound of him wrung out like this.

Jim doesn’t try to force his vocal cords to work, because he knows they’re functionally irrelevant right now anyway, by the ache in his throat. He lifts his chin towards Silver, parting his lips and tilting his head, and pulling with the hand still on the older man’s shoulder just for good measure. 

The kiss is short. Neither of them can hold it for long, lungs still burning from the exertion of sex, but they both give it their best and break apart unwilling and gulping for air like men about to drown. When Jim has some of his breath back he kisses Silver again, just because he can, and because he wants to feel the other man’s mouth sliding against his, and Silver lets him. He kisses back, not opening his mouth except to catch lungfuls of air, and Jim does the same until they’re just making out like the day in the garage all over again. 

“I…” Jim starts to say, without thinking. He’s in so deep and everything feels so good, but he just manages to bite his tongue to stop the words that had wanted to tumble out, swallowing them down with a thick gulp.

Silver pauses, looking down at Jim with both hands coming to tangle in his hair. 

“Okay?” He asks, when the silence goes on for several beats.

“Yeah.” Jim laughs. “Good. Felt… feels so good.” He bites his lip, blushing. “Thanks.”

Silver hums, dropping a kiss onto Jim’s chin and then his throat. His right hand moves away, the left scratching at Jim’s scalp as he goes to trace the tattoo again. Jim stretches his spine and groans, both at the blood rushing to his muscles and the pleasant touch against his head.

“Little dipper, huh?” Comes the half muffled question. The index and middle fingers drawing circles around Jim’s shoulder direct the statement. Jim shrugs with his chest more than his shoulders, clearing his throat.

“Yeah. When I was a kid, Mom had a book of constellations and stars, with a bunch of stories about them. I always liked hearing about how people used to navigate using Polaris.” He lowers his voice to a mumble. “Plus this was the only one I could afford.” 

It wasn’t. There were cheaper tattoos available, but Jim had been feeling hopeful that day. He’d heard of sailors getting compasses, or constellations from their home tattooed, as a way to help find their way back. Getting the north star inked onto his body felt like giving himself something of a guide, even if it was just wishful thinking.

Silver makes a noise, a coo in his throat, and Jim prepares to get mocked, a little, for his vulnerability. But instead of saying anything Silver moves, bowing his head towards Jim’s shoulder before pressing his lips to it. He kisses the tattoo, thumb stroking the skin just under his mouth, and when he’s done he buries his face in the crook of Jim’s neck again. Jim returns the nuzzle, after a second of laying frozen in mixed happiness and surprise. 

Silver pushes himself up, after a while, and Jim grimaces at the sticky mess he made between them. The other man grins at him, looking pleased with the result. He pulls out, Jim grunting at the feeling but still too tired to move yet as Silver moves to the bathroom and flips on the light. It’s painfully bright in the dimness, and Jim groans and turns his head away. He stays in the bed, happy to rest as Silver runs the water, presumably washing up. He knows he has to get up at some point, but with all the times he’s been turned away from Silver in the past couple of weeks, Jim wants to revel in the moment.

When footsteps approach the bed again Jim doesn’t stir. He opens his eyes as Silver leans over him, hoping for a kiss, but a warm washcloth running over the mess on his stomach is equally as welcome. Silver has pants on again, Jim notices. He arches his back and stretches again as he’s getting cleaned up, but doesn’t move to get up.

“Wonder if you’re always this lazy, after a good hard fuck.” Silver comments, as he turns away from Jim. 

“Guess we’ll find out.” He says, smiling past a blush and still lounging on the bed. His eyes are open now, if reluctantly. After that workout he’s more than ready to go back to sleep, and hopefully he can convince Silver to join him. 

Jim groans after the older man when he walks back out into the hallway. 

“Where are you  _ going _ ?” He whines, not trying to hide the petulant lilt. Silver laughs at him, stopping in the doorway to face Jim where he’s buck naked in the bed.

“Thought you’d be hungry, after that, but if you’d rather be left alone…” 

He walks away, leaving the question hanging. Jim sits up, suddenly realising that he  _ is  _ hungry. Starving, even. They hadn’t had anything to eat yet before things migrated back to the cabin, and his stomach is angrily protesting the lack of sustenance now that he’s paying attention to it. 

Jim finds his clothes and slips them on, not bothering to tuck his shirt into his jeans. He walks out into the galley like that, ruffled and hair mussed, with a faint flush still coloring his cheeks. 

It feels like this should have changed something between them, like they should be more serious around each other, or something. 

They’re not. Silver makes a jokingly snide remark and Jim rolls his eyes and responds in kind. They fall back into the same easy dynamic as before. If anything, it’s less fraught. Jim doesn’t have to worry about being pushed away now, and if he wants to press himself up against Silver’s side he can do that without consequences.

Jim wolfs down breakfast - a simple meal of toast and eggs, but more than enough to fill his belly - and relishes in the quiet after, happy to just sit with Silver. He wraps himself in the older man’s coat again, because he can and because he can’t get enough of the way Silver looks at him when he does. The man looks shocked, and pleased, and whenever he looks over not quite hiding a smile, Jim makes a point to burrow himself into the material and look happy.

They finish eating and set to work eventually, because there’s still chores to be done on the ship even with the anchor dropped. Most of the work is upkeep, things Jim is used to doing by now, and he doesn’t mind it. Silver checks the weather report. It's clear for the rest of the week, and he relays to Jim the plan to head back to shore Sunday afternoon, leaving them all of today and tonight to relax around one another.

Jim is thrilled, and doesn’t make a secret out of it. He can’t update his mother, this far out, but he told her yesterday that he would probably be gone for the weekend, and she had seemed fine with it. He could be facing down a lecture for the ages when he gets home, but that is a problem for future him to deal with. For now Jim is going to take her permission at face value.


	7. Past and Present Sins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silver has something he needs to tell Jim.

They manage to make it through midday keeping their hands off one another. It helps that Jim is still riding the high from the sex that morning. He can’t quite believe it, and every now and then he has to just stop and look at Silver in awe. 

Silver catches him more often than not, and he returns the openly blissful look with an affectionate one of his own, and Jim usually gets either an arm around his shoulders or a kiss to his forehead. 

The sheer amount of casual, loving touch is overwhelming. Jim had thought he was used to being loved on, but it rapidly becomes clear that Silver was holding back, before. Every time they’re close, Jim ends up with a hand on him somewhere - his shoulder, or the dip of his spine, or warm and heavy on the back of his neck. Silver takes every opportunity to just rest his hands on Jim, and the younger man is not complaining. When they sit down for a break around midday Jim forgoes the booth and curls up right on Silver’s lap, legs tucked to his chest like he’s a small child. The position is slightly awkward, but Jim gets to sit warm and happy, with Silver’s right arm curled around his back and resting on his hip. 

He gripes, when Silver tells him to squeeze into the back of the machine room, but he’s not actually annoyed and they both know it. He’s complaining because no matter what he’s always going to be a backtalking little shit, but Silver has known that from the start.

He comes out coated in a fine layer of grease and dust, but Silver is looking at Jim all proud and pleased, and the open affection makes it hard to hide the way he puffs his chest slightly. Silver ruffles Jim’s hair with his dominant hand, leaving it at the base of the younger man’s skull well past when he would have normally ceased contact. 

“I can’t believe you’re still making me do the dirty work.” Jim grumbles, leaning his head back into the older man’s touch but refusing to let it soften his tone.

Silver chuckles at him, releasing the boy’s neck and wiping his other hand on a towel to rid it of the leftover grease. He doesn’t offer the rag to Jim. It wouldn’t help anyway, his clothes have the worst of the mess. He needs a bath and probably a load of laundry to clean this up in any meaningful way.

“The ol’ girl needs maintenance whether ye like it or not, Jimbo.” 

Jim ‘hmphs’, wiping fruitlessly at a smear of grease on his arm.

“Whatever. I’m gonna take a shower.” 

“Don’t use all the hot water.” Silver calls, when Jim is at the door to the cabin, shirt already halfway off.

“If you’re worried about hot water you’re welcome to join me.” Jim shouts back, in a fit of unusually smooth confidence. He closes the bathroom door behind him, stripping out of his clothes and turning on the water as warm as it will go. He was the one slithering into all the tight spaces earlier, he’s earned this.

Jim made the offer to share the shower mostly as a joke, and was not expecting to be taken up on it. So when he hears the door open as he’s stepping into the spray, he stops, regretting his momentary lapse in judgement as much as he’s excited when he peeks out into the bathroom.

Silver is leaning in the door, casual as anything. He’s not eyeing Jim up and down like he was that morning, keeping eye contact even though the younger man’s bare ass is right there. Jim flushes pink while trying to convince himself that this isn’t anything he has to be embarrassed about, and ultimately failing.

“Was that a serious offer?” The older man asks.

Jim swallows past the rising arousal in his stomach. The tone Silver is using isn’t all that different from the way he’d been talking during sex, and after a couple of hours to regain his stamina Jim is more than ready for a second round.

“Not really, but if you wanna…” He takes a step back, shrugging, like he doesn’t care either way. 

Silver hums at him, and now he does let his gaze wander. Jim tries not to shudder under the observation, and to that end he turns away and closes his eyes to scrub soap into his hair. He still hears Silver moving around outside the stall, presumably disrobing to match. 

For some reason the idea of them showering together sends a little jolt into Jim’s chest, a twisting tug that isn’t entirely unpleasant. It’s no less intimate than having sex itself, he knows, but at the same time it’s _way_ more intense. Sex is just that, sex. Showering with someone, without the outward intention of fucking? That’s different. It’s being naked and near one another for no ulterior motives, just for the purpose of doing the mundane stuff together. 

This feels like more of a commitment than sex did, and Jim can’t fight a smile at that.

He sticks his head under the spray, rinsing his hair and distracting himself, both from his thoughts and from the fact that he can hear Silver entering just behind him. 

Light fingerpads skating across his shoulders don’t come as a surprise. The index finger traces amorphous shapes around the skin, and Jim’s shyness falls away into a smile as Silver speaks.

“Weren’t expecting me to call yer bluff, were ye?” He asks, low and amused.

The shower isn’t large, but when Jim glances over his shoulder there’s still a fair distance between their bodies. Enough that Silver can lean against the back wall, not touching Jim except for where his right hand is still extended.

Jim shrugs, not hiding it when he blushes. He brushes his hair back from his face, blinking water from his eyes. 

“Not like I’m complaining.” He mumbles, turning to face forward again, just to keep his gaze from sliding down. He is here to clean up, after all, and Jim wants to get the worst of the mess before he tries to start anything that might distract them from the purpose of the shower.

He grabs a handful of soap, leaving the bar in its place behind him as he scrubs over his neck and face. He’s fully expecting Silver to take his turn and leave Jim to wash himself, so he’s caught a little off guard when a soap slicked hand rubs over his shoulders. 

“I can do it myself, you know.” Jim mumbles, trying to sound annoyed to cover his vivid blushing. Silver’s hands are so much bigger than his own, and having the left one smoothing down his back while the right rests on his bare hip really brings that into focus.

“Maybe I’m just eager to get hands on ye again.” Comes the rumbling growl of a reply, low in volume and right next to Jim’s ear. He gasps, his hands stopping in the halfhearted movement over his own body to brace on the shower wall in front of him. 

Silver doesn’t comment on the very visible signs of arousal as he rubs Jim all over. He spreads soap over Jim’s shoulders, down his back, and brushes a hand too quickly over the younger man’s ass. He’s stepped closer, and Jim can feel the water funneling between their bodies as the space gets smaller and smaller.

Neither of them are speaking, but the shower isn’t quiet. The water raining down onto their bodies fills the air with a steady patter, and as Silver’s hand moves around to Jim’s chest he gasps, gulping in the humid air. 

“Want me to stop?” Silver asks, in that voice that Jim immediately associates with sex. Jim shakes his head and chances a peek down, sucking in air again when he sees the way the older man is surrounding him. 

The right hand has stayed put on Jim’s hip, the fingers petting his flank in slow, rhythmic kneading motions. The other hand is wrapped under his arm, moving over his chest and stomach, pausing in places to scrub where grease managed to get under his shirt. The touch isn’t clinical, this is for more than just washing up, even if that is the outward motivator right now. Even so Silver takes his time, apparently invested in doing a decent job of actually cleaning Jim despite the hunger in his words and his touch. He teases the boy during, kissing Jim’s shoulder and laughing as his hips jerk forward with the slightest provocation of a thumb rubbing over his chest.

He’s almost fully hard, by now. The slow full body rub down is making Jim pant and lean hard into his forearms where they’re braced on the wall. Silver steers clear of touching his cock, even when Jim whines and cants his hips toward the wandering hand, and he’s as frustrated by it as he is hopelessly turned on by the constant tease.

When Silver’s touch recedes entirely, Jim picks up his head and looks back at him, with a whimper of confusion. He finds the older man pointedly not looking at him, as he takes his own turn with the bar of soap. There’s a hint of a smirk on his face, when he glances at Jim, just enough to let the boy know that his need hasn’t gone unnoticed.

Jim takes a second to catch his breath, and as he does an idea occurs to him. He turns, payback written on his own face as he takes the soap and returns the favor. Silver laughs, openly delighted as Jim bucks his hips and rubs his aching hard-on against the other man’s half erection. He lets his right hand rest on the younger man’s waist again, the other catching Jim around his wrist and bringing his hand up to kiss the heel of his palm, after letting the suds rinse off in the spray. 

Jim slides out of his grip, putting away the soap and bringing now both hands up to Silver’s face to just hold them there. He lets the scheming look drop, staring up with open adoration as Silver winds his other arm around his back and pulls him closer.

They’re naked, pressed against one another in the shower. Jim wonders if it’s weird that he doesn’t even want to look away from where their eyes are locked. It’s not that he doesn’t want to drool over the rest of Silver, but there’s so much raw wonder overflowing from the other man's expression that he’s scared of breaking eye contact, or even blinking, for fear it will have been a trick of the light.

He’s finally jogged from his staring as Silver’s right hand slides up his back, stroking the middle finger down the dip between his shoulders. Jim shakes his head, blinking and finding with relief that Silver doesn’t look any less adoring, and that lets his gaze trail down the older man’s shoulder, his hand following the same path.

“This isn’t something you have to worry about getting wet, right?” Jim checks, tapping the mechanical arm for emphasis. He can guess as much, based on the current situation, but he’s also just plain curious and Silver doesn’t seem to have any issue indulging him on this.

“All the important things’re waterproofed or tucked away.” Silver confirms. “Not that I’m keen to test it in deep water, mind. But it’s survived this long wit’out a problem.” 

Jim ‘hm’s, like he’s mildly intrigued and not currently hard against Silver’s thigh. He pulls the forearm back, analysing it with a flush probably giving away his intention. 

“You said you can feel me with this?” He checks, bringing Silver’s hand up close to his face. He doesn’t even glance at the man, pretending to look very closely at the inorganic material as his flush increases.

“Aye.” 

Jim hums again, and then he opens his mouth and closes his lips around the index finger pad. He smiles around it, making eye contact with Silver as he sucks slightly. 

The older man doesn’t outwardly react, aside from his mouth opening slightly, but Jim feels a twitch of Silver’s dick where it’s resting next to his own. 

The stillness reigns for a moment, Silver letting Jim lick and suck and put on a show until he pulls off of his own accord, and then he pounces on the younger man. Jim finds his head pulled back by a messy handful of his hair, and he takes a gulp of air like he’s about to dive before Silver kisses him hard. 

Jim moans, his voice muffled by the kiss and the sounds of the shower both. He grinds against Silver again, just to get some relief from the hot pressure in his pelvis, and can’t stifle a throaty whine when the older man holds him still and rubs his own hardening cock against Jim’s stomach.

“I wanna suck you off.” Jim gasps into his mouth, when the kiss breaks.

“Don’t have a condom on me right now, lad.” Silver says, sounding like he does truly regret it.

“Fine by me.” Jim breathes, stealing another kiss before he’s pushed back gently.

“Jim-” He starts, but the younger man cuts him off with an eyeroll and a huff.

“I’m clean, and I trust you when you say that you’re clean. Can I blow you now?” His impatience is starting to show, hormones wearing on his already frayed self control even though he got off only this morning. 

Silver growls out a breath through gritted teeth, a reluctant smile on his face. He’s debating, Jim knows, and he lets it go on in silence for a few seconds before he rubs himself on the other man again, trying to tempt him into caving.

It works. Silver looks up at the ceiling, mouth moving silently as if he’s praying for strength, but when he looks down again he’s baring his teeth in a wolfish grin. His finger catches the boy under the chin, tilting his head further back as he leans down to speak in a low, rumbly tone that makes Jim’s whole body shiver in the best way possible.

“God, you’re pretty when you’re begging to suck my cock.” 

Jim feels warm, and he’s pretty sure that isn’t all from the shower. 

“I’ll be even prettier when I’m doing it.” He whispers back, proud of how even his voice comes out.

Without another word Jim leans back, putting his spine against the wall and sliding down to his knees, maintaining eye contact all the while. The stream of water is flowing between them, just over top of Jim’s head. His hair is plastered to his face, and he brushes it out of the way while keeping his eyes focused up, on Silver’s face. He looks shocked, a little, that Jim is actually going through with this. 

A finger brushes Jim’s face, the flexible disk tracing down his temple to his cheek. He closes his eyes, slow and calm as Silver caresses him. 

For how much as he’s been looking forward to seeing Silver’s face slack with ecstasy, he’s a little annoyed when the shower makes it hard for him to see. The water makes Jim’s vision blurry, and he has to use his hands and mouth to feel around for his prize. 

Silver’s hand almost makes contact with his head, just enough of a brush to feel it, before he hesitates. Jim waits for a moment, hoping the man will make up his mind without help, but when the touch remains unforthcoming he decides there's no harm in helping him along. 

“I’m kinda blind here, you’re gonna have to help me out.” He fibs.

There’s still a second of stillness, but Silver splays his organic fingers over the back of Jim’s head and pulls him forward and down. His nose makes contact first, bumping lightly against Silver’s middle just as a telltale shape nudges against his chin. 

Jim bows his head, taking one hand away from the older man’s thighs to angle his cock towards his mouth. 

Silver lets out a strangled noise, as Jim licks the tip and then slides his lips as far as he can comfortably go. The fingers curl sharply in Jim’s hair. The harsh tug hurts, but not enough for Jim to pull away, and it actually makes him harder. He’s trapped like this, even if he could technically squirm away should he want to.

“ _Mmphh,_ mmhhh…” He groans, just to hear the way his voice is muffled. The eroticism of being unable to speak around how full his mouth is shouldn’t be as much of a turn on as it is, but Jim is too lightheaded to really care about _should_ right now. 

“Okay, Jimbo?” Silver asks, and Jim nods as much as he can before humming.

Silver groans again, pushing a little deeper into Jim’s mouth as he does. The boy struggles around the feeling of something bumping the back of his throat, but he breathes through his nose and adjusts to the change without needing to pull off. He tilts his head, sucking and moving his tongue and trying to bob his head back and forth. 

“That’s it. Attaboy.” Silver grits out, moving in and out while Jim whimpers and moans through the feeling. His mouth is full and the spit is overflowing, rolling down his chin with the water from the shower until they’re indistinguishable. 

When Silver pulls all the way out Jim gasps, sucking air deeply and trying to catch his breath for the next thrust into his throat, but the hand in his hair just releases him from the wall. He drops forward a little, leaning into Silver, the older man’s dick nudging against his cheek as he pants.

Silver pushes it against his mouth again, after a handful of breaths, and Jim eagerly opens his lips to lap and lick down the shaft. He goes from side to side, working at it and licking up the underside. Sealing his lips around the head earns a sigh, and Jim pushes his advantage by suckling and laving his tongue through the precome where it’s building up in the slit. It’s weirdly pleasant, licking at it like this. The taste is heavy on his tongue, but it’s the kind of clean warmth that just tastes like skin and a bit of sweat, not considering the precome, of course.

Jim has never done this, before. He’s never done anything _like_ this, but he’s more eager than he expected to taste the come in his mouth. He’s not naïve, he knows it’s probably going to be bitter and less than savory, but the idea of making Silver come down his throat will be well worth the struggle to swallow.

“ _Fuck_ , lad.” Silver gasps, rocking slowly deeper even though Jim thought he was taking most of it. He sounds strained, and the way his fingers are curling and tugging at the younger man’s hair just a little too roughly means he has to be losing control. The curse is a first, Jim can’t remember hearing Silver swear like that before, and it encourages him to redouble his efforts. 

Just when Jim’s getting ready to try and swallow to the root, Silver pulls away, holding the younger man in place as he backs off. Jim lets him catch his breath, peeking up to find Silver has his other arm leaned against the wall at the elbow, and his forehead resting on the back of his hand. 

“Finally found a use for that mouth besides backtalk, ey Jimbo?” He rasps, moving his hand over Jim’s hair somewhere between a caress and a patronizing pet. Jim glares and tries to put his mouth on the older man’s cock again, as revenge, but he’s brought up short as the grip in his hair tightens again. 

He whines, writhing on the floor where he’s kneeling. Despite having no stimulation, his dick is still harder than ever where it’s standing between his thighs.

Silver looks down at Jim for the first time in what is probably a while. He makes a guttural noise in his throat at the sight, and then his eyes track down over the younger man’s obvious erection and he growls out a laugh.

“You _were_ enjoying yourself, weren’t ye?” Jim nods, arching his back. The water isn’t running down into his vision anymore, most of it blocked by the shelter Silver’s frame is providing. 

“Why’d you stop me?” Jim asks, still squirming. He doesn’t touch himself though, for fear of coming as quickly as he had this morning. He wants to make this last, for a little longer at least.

The grip on Jim’s head slackens, moving instead into slow circular motions that scratch nails over his scalp. He tilts his neck back, sighing and rubbing his head into it like a cat.

“Weren’t sure how much longer I could take it, t’be honest.” Silver says, almost muttering the words.

“You were about to come?” Jim perks up. He’d hoped, from the sound of the older man’s voice, but having it confirmed is a huge ego boost.

Silver nods, and quiet rich with anticipation takes over for a moment. Jim bites his lip, hoping that Silver will take the lead and give him an opportunity, but when he says nothing the younger man is forced to speak up.

“Will you…” Jim hesitates, worrying his lip. He glances up through his lashes and notices that he has Silver’s attention again, the older man meeting his eyes and continuing to rub his hand over his head.

“Can I keep going? Like… until you come? Because I’ve been thinking about this for a while and if I don’t get to do it now I’m just gonna go crazy until we can do this again.” 

It all comes out in a nervous rush. Jim notices Silver repress laughter when he mentions fantasizing, but he holds his tongue until the boy is finishes speaking. 

“‘Thinking about this for a while’ huh?” He says, more to himself than to Jim. Before the younger man can work up an answer, he shakes his head and continues. “I dunno, lad. Ye were almost choking on what ye had already to deal with.” 

He’s got that semi-serious tone that means he’s only sort of joking. The phrasing and the crooked grin on his mouth is teasing, but his eyes are earnest. Jim hesitates, looking down to the still hard dick at eye level. 

He had been roughly at the halfway mark when he was comfortable, give or take a half inch. Deep throating is entirely out of the question, and as much as he loves the idea of Silver shoving into his throat forcefully he’s not sure that’s a good idea.

“So I’ll limit myself and let you do most of the work, fair? But I really wanna do this.” Jim pleads, trying his best puppy-dog eyes look up at Silver. He bites his lip for good measure, the flesh already reddened and abused from all the kissing today.

Silver looks like he’s about to argue, and Jim rushes to open his mouth and cut him off.

“Please? I’m literally begging to suck your dick for the second time. I’m giving you express permission to come down my throat, Silver, _please._ ” 

Silver groans, like he can’t believe he’s doing this. There’s a second where Jim fears he’s actually annoyed the older man, but then a rueful smile slips onto his face and he’s pulling his hand out of Jim’s hair to wrap around the base of his cock. 

“Gonna be a good boy?” He hisses, as his hand slides down the wall to rest near Jim’s head. It’s a threat, one that doesn’t have to be made twice. 

Jim sucks the tip into his mouth, sealing his lips just after where the shaft begins and stroking the area under the head with his tongue. He puts his hands on Silver’s thighs, resting them there and cutting his eyes up, as if to say _‘come on already’_. 

The first slow, squeezing pump is almost hesitant. Jim hums and works his mouth a little further, licking encouragingly as his eyes flutter closed. Silver picks up the pace, making harsh snarls and long, low groans that Jim echoes with his own moaning hums. 

The older man is fully jerking off into Jim’s mouth now. His other hand comes down, just brushing through the soaking wet hair, but it feels like a trap closing and Jim is starting to think that maybe he likes that feeling a little _too_ much. He vibrates his throat again, laving his tongue in circles and bobbing his head slightly. 

The sharp, harsh gasp that punches out of Silver’s chest as he comes makes Jim’s eyes light up. Heat fills his mouth, overwhelming and a little bit spilling out when Jim startles, but he manages to keep his lips sealed closed for the most part. The mouthful doesn’t taste fantastic, but he doesn’t mind it as much as he was expecting and it’s not difficult to swallow down.

Silver pulls away and Jim opens his mouth, gasping for air, and it’s only spit that rolls off his tongue. They’re both breathing hard, in the wake of that, and only the steady drumming of the water onto the shower floor fills the space between heaving lungful's. 

Jim’s eyes are fixed on the floor, until Silver pats him on the head, putting a little more of his hands weight on Jim than he normally would. His breaths are raspy, not quite wheezing, but less full than they would normally be. 

The water shuts off, after a moment, and Silver steps back with his hands down towards Jim. He takes them, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. His erection bobs between them, and Jim gasps when it rubs against Silver’s hip. He can’t help moving into it, bucking forward to relieve a bit of the near painful pressure in his belly, and Silver’s chest vibrates with soft, tired chuckling.

“That desperate, aye?” He asks, flesh hand sliding towards the flushed length pressed into his middle. Jim chokes on air when Silver palms him, his whole body twisting forward in a touch starved jerk. 

“C-can we take this to the bed?” He says in a strangled voice, like Silver’s hand is squeezing around his throat and not his member. 

Jim had hoped that Silver might sweep him up and carry him to the bed, but being guided backwards out of the shower isn’t a bad start. His back hits the edge of the sink and Jim stops there, suddenly very cold as Silver dries himself off across the bathroom. He doesn’t retreat far, all of three feet between them, but compared to being locked in a shower stall with the man, it’s uncomfortably distant.

Jim stands there, completely unable to look away or move himself. Yes, he was just in the shower with Silver. And yeah, he was sucking the man’s dick not a minute earlier, but seeing him like this? The casual comfort he has at being totally vulnerable in front of Jim? It’s terrifying how right this feels.

When Silver notices Jim staring he smirks, stepping closer and pinning the boy to the counter. The hand still holding the towel smooths over the younger man’s chest, clearing away the few droplets of water still clinging to his skin. 

Silver rubs Jim down carefully, in a way that Jim wants to call loving even though he’s hesitant to think the word in any context just yet. It’s undeniably erotic, the occasional touch of a bare hand over his skin giving further fuel to his erection, but the way Silver lets his mouth rest at the crown of Jim’s head is softer, sweeter than pure lust. 

It ends unceremoniously, with Silver pulling the towel over Jim’s head and leaving it there, walking away with a chuckle as the young man squawks indignantly behind him. Jim ruffles it through his hair, sweeping the newly mussed strands out of his face after and noticing how red his face is in the mirror. 

Jim puts his pants back on, just to make Silver peel them off him. He leaves his shirt off, and forgoes underwear as well. The snug fit of his jeans make the erection uncomfortable, but it’s worth it to get stripped all over again.

Walking out, he finds that Silver has more or less dressed himself again. It’s disappointing, if understandable, but all the dissatisfaction goes out the window when the older man beckons Jim closer with a sly look. 

The bed is right at Silver’s back, and Jim moves over to him with enough momentum to have carried a slighter man onto it. Silver sways as he catches Jim, but he stays sturdy and grounded, hands falling to the younger man’s hips in a steadying motion. Jim rubs up on him like a cat, nerves over-sensitive and dying for contact of any kind. He’s panting again, mouth falling open in a desperate whine. Silver doesn’t kiss him, just watches Jim squirm and looks pleased. Jim wonders if he hasn’t made a huge mistake, getting Silver off first. Without the slow burn of arousal to create a time limit, he might be in for a long night of teasing. 

“Can I ask for something?” He says, in spite of or maybe fueled by the knowledge that Silver could fully intend to string him along for hours.

“‘Course.” Silver answers, like he wouldn’t deny Jim anything. He doesn’t have the same urgency in his voice that he did when he was holding back from fucking the boy senseless, but the delicious gravelly rumble is doing things to Jim all the same.

“I want you to tie me up.” He says. If he wasn’t already thinking with his dick he might have needed a second to work up to the words, but Jim is utterly shameless right now and can’t see why he should be anything else.

Silver grins wider.

“Now, where’d ye get an idea like that?” 

Jim doesn’t answer for a moment, his head spinning with arousal, reminding him that he’s been on the edge of coming for basically the entirety of the shower. He swallows and whines, arching against Silver when the left hand strokes a finger up his spine. 

“Please? I know we’ve got rope laying around.”

Jim yelps when Silver turns them, pulling the boy off balance and letting him drop onto the bed. He’s laying diagonally, startled by the sudden change, and then it’s even harder to think as Silver leans down overtop of him and purrs in his ear.

“Hands up on the headboard, an’ lets see how good ye can be for me.”

Silver stands up again, leaving Jim alone on the bed but not looking away just yet. He crosses his arms, watching like he’s taking in the view, and it takes Jim a moment to remember that he’s supposed to be following orders here. 

He shifts around, laying on his back and letting his head fall onto the pillows. The bed doesn’t have a headboard proper, a simple bar like a guardrail a few inches above the pillows, but it’s the right height for Jim to touch with his fingers when his hands rest over his head.

Jim rakes a hand through his still wet hair nervously, tightening his fist on the corner of the pillow when his fingers skip from his scalp to the soft cotton. The pillowcase is probably going to be damp, after this, but Jim cannot honestly say he gives a fuck, and from the look of things neither does Silver. The man is still watching him, unmoving and with a crooked half smile on his face that could be good, bad, or somewhere in between. 

Jim swallows, waiting for praise or admonishment. Silver makes a noise in his throat, apparently pleased, and opens the drawer to pull out the rope Jim had spotted that morning. He tosses it onto the boy’s chest, making Jim flinch as if struck and his hips jerk up. Silver laughs, but the sting of humiliation is tempered by the curl of pleasure as he gets onto the bed to sit looming over Jim. 

“S’okay, lad. I’m not gonna hurt ye.” He says, voice softer now. That takes a little bit of the edge off, enough for Jim to breath again and feel a bit less lightheaded. 

“I know.” He says back in a tight, strained voice. 

Silver lets the smile drop more, looking serious for the first time all day. He reaches for Jim’s wrists where they’re laying loosely crossed over the top of his head, catching both in his mechanical hand and encouraging Jim to sit up with another hand on his shoulder. 

“Good?” He asks, not touching the rope just yet. His thumbs move back and forth gently where they’re touching Jim, soothing. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m really good.” 

“Ye know ye can ask to stop anytime, aye?” 

He’s meeting Jim’s eyes, searching him for doubt. Jim doesn’t have any. He might be nervous, because who wouldn’t be? But he’s not scared, of this or of Silver. 

“Do you want me to come up with a safeword?” He jokes. Silver looks less amused, though a slight smile does quirk at the corners of his mouth. 

“This kind of play’s no joke, lad.” He intones, voice light but serious still. Jim realises that yeah, Silver probably _does_ want him to have some sort of safeword, and a sudden flush creeps over his face. 

“Do you… um. Is there like a safeword basics?” He mumbles, feeling very young and out of his depth. 

Silver doesn’t laugh at him, even if he would be justified in doing so right now. He takes his hand off the younger man’s shoulder to cup his cheek and push back his fringe, looking so hopelessly infatuated that it’s a little jarring, actually, because Jim feels exactly the same way. 

“Green’s good, gives the go ahead. Yellow’s not so good, red for full stop.” 

“Green, yellow, red. Got it.” Jim echoes, forcing himself to laugh again.

Silver smiles at him again, and when Jim arches his back up for a kiss he complies. He’s still holding the younger man in a seated position, straddling his knees and holding his wrists together. The flesh hand goes to the back of Jim’s neck, scratching through his hair and tugging at it slightly, making the boy gasp when his mouth is already open and waiting to be licked into. 

When they part his left hand travels down, untangling the rope with ease and without ever breaking eye contact. Jim can’t decide whether to meet Silver’s eyes or watch his oncoming entrapment, and flickers between them until his hands are released and his chin captured instead.

“Look at me, lad. Not the rope, jus’ me.” There’s steel in his voice now, Silver fully expects Jim to obey and all of the defiance that had been waiting for a chance to leap suddenly quails. Jim gapes in shock and his erection strains against the front of his pants, but he doesn’t dare look away.

Silver grins at the response, until his smile drops slightly and he lowers his voice to a whisper to ask, “Color?”

Jim gulps, struggling to find his words for a second.

“Green. So green.” 

The smirk returns, making the bottom drop out of Jim’s stomach, and he chokes on air as Silver secures a prepared loop of rope around his wrists. He loops the rope around again, below where it’s secured before coming back through, his hands moving so quickly and with such ease that Jim can’t hope to follow his motions. Not that he’s looking down. Aside from a reactionary glance at the first loop, Jim has kept his eyes on Silver’s face, where he’s cutting his eyes up every now and then to check that the boy is doing as he’s told. He only knows it’s done when Silver tightens the last knot and wraps the loose ends around his palm like a leash. 

“Not gonna struggle for me?” He asks, tilting his head towards Jim like he’s going to kiss the boy. 

“No.” Jim gulps.

Silver’s analysing expression widens, turning from devious to just plain pleased. He does kiss Jim then, keeping his tied hands between them and murmuring praise under his breath. Jim tries to keep up with the movements of his tongue and lips, but between his limbs being trapped and his head swimming with pleasure, he’s slow to react and it’s easier to just take it. 

Silver pushes and Jim falls onto the bed. He’s out of it, all of his concentration on the movement of his pelvis where he’s grinding up against Silver. His arms are held over his head and the rope tied down, but Jim neither notices nor cares. 

When Silver sits back up Jim tries to chase the contact, bucking his hips until he’s pulled up short by his tether. When he looks blearily up at his hands the rope has been tied in neat loops around the wooden rail, and trying to move his wrists around does nothing to gain him freedom.

Jim looks down again to find Silver sitting up on his knees, hands resting on the younger man’s thighs but keeping clear of the bulge in his pants. The fear of before, that Silver would drag this out for as long as humanly possible becomes very real then, with the dangerous look in the older man’s eyes.

His fingers dig into the flesh of Jim’s thighs, kneading and squeezing and obviously enjoying the younger man’s whining pleas.

“What did ye want me to do next?” He purrs, pushing Jim’s knees apart and settling himself between them. 

Jim squirms, tugging at the bonds, twisting his hands this way and that to try and get free, all to no avail. He goes limp, chest already heaving a bit quicker in excitement.

“Touch me, play with me. I don’t care, I just wanna feel you.” His voice sounds shaky, like he’s crying, because he’s just so overwhelmed. It’s a good overwhelmed, being so incredibly turned on that everything is either sharper than it’s ever been or so fuzzy and distant it might as well not exist.

“ _Play_ with ye, huh?” Silver latches on to that suggestion all too eagerly, but the fingers on his right hand position themselves in an arc over the clothed erection. “Shame ye put these back on, would’ve loved to have ye naked like this.” 

Jim arches up towards him, desperate for friction, pressure, _anything_ , only to be denied. 

“Take them off then.” He gasps, wriggling his hips and trying to drag the beltline down with the bedding. Silver notices, and Jim’s blood feels like it boils in his veins as he slips a finger under the denim at the hip, but he doesn’t pull the clothing down. Silver clicks his tongue, a sound that makes Jim’s lungs stall in his chest.

“Oh, is that what ye wanted? Put ‘em back on just to have me pull ‘em off again?” 

Despite the danger pulsing in his stomach, Jim nods. A lump of cold uneasiness lodges in his throat when Silver laughs.

“In that case, think I’ll leave ‘em on for a while. Wouldn’t want ye to let ye off too quickly, would we?” 

He presses his fingers down on the last word, cupping Jim through his pants and rubbing mercilessly. Jim shouts, voice trailing off into a moan as he rocks into the pressure.

“Silver…” He pleads, trying to claw at the ropes over his head. He’s starting to regret giving Silver all of this power. Not enough to call time out, of course, but his dick is definitely not pleased at being denied. 

The older man doesn’t dignify Jim’s whimper with a response. He keeps rubbing his hand over the part of the younger man’s legs while watching his face. Jim tries to meet his gaze, to challenge him, but the first squeeze in just the right spot sends his head rolling back on his neck and releases a groan from his chest. Just like that he’s putty in Silver’s hands, with nothing to do but surrender and hope the other man takes pity on him.

A warm palm skimming over his stomach makes Jim writhe. It’s just light enough to be almost ticklish, until Silver retraces the path with his nails, not pushing hard enough to hurt or leave welts, but felt all the same. 

Jim’s breath catches hopefully when Silver leans down towards his stomach. He kisses there, hand still moving over the bared flesh. He traces the scar on Jim’s side that he’d shown so many months ago now, before moving up to lick over it. 

“Listen to you.” Silver murmurs, when Jim keens and tries to arch into his mouth. “Ye want it so bad, don’t ye?” 

Jim nods, _mm-hmm-_ ing for extra emphasis as he’s biting his lip to keep from wailing. Just having kisses peppered over his torso is building a pool of static under his skin, and it’s only so long before he's gonna come in his pants.

“How do ye wanna come then, hm?” The older man continues, obviously enjoying torturing the boy. He lays a kiss on each rib as he moves up, like he’s counting them, until he reaches the pectoral muscle and instead licks a long line over it. 

Jim chokes, trying desperately to maintain eye contact but flustered and hot in the face. He flexes, and his instinct is to bring his hands down to hold Silver back, but he’s just left growling with frustration and pent up arousal.

“I don’t care how, just touch my fucking dick already.” He snarls, breathless. Silver tsks again, and Jim gulps with the knowledge that he made a mistake. 

“Ask nicely, lad, an’ I’ll _consider_ it.” There’s a warning in his tone, something darkly amused and so in line with this commanding aura he’s already got that Jim has to fight to suppress a moan in response.

“Please. Silver please, _please._ I’m horny as fuck and you’ve already got me tied up, can you _please_ suck me off or something?” 

Silver doesn’t say anything right away. He looks at Jim, eyeing him critically before he _hm_ 's and sucks a hickey onto the middle of his chest.

“Silver…” Jim gasps, when he immediately makes a second mark, and then a third, all without moving down.

“Said I’d consider it, didn’t I?” He hums, all too pleased. “Think I’m gonna wait a while, let ye learn a lesson ‘bout askin’ nicely.” 

“No, no _please_ , that’s not fair...” Jim slurs, shaking his head. 

“Seems perfectly fair to me.” Silver responds, giving his nearly forgotten right hand a twist, as if to remind Jim of it’s position. “Might finally teach ye some manners.” 

He works his fingers, playing with the younger man’s erection through his clothes until he’s panting and fully hard again. Even through the thick denim, Jim can feel the easy, almost muscle memory way Silver is finding all the places that are most sensitive to touch. His fingers are clever, drawing Jim right to the edge before backing off. Jim wonders, in a distant part of his mind, how Silver is so effortlessly finding the balance between blissful euphoria and maddening frustration.

“Can ye be good for me?” Silver finally purrs, after several minutes of quiet concentration. Jim had been begging, pleading for release, but he was ignored until he fell into quiet whines and whimpers of need.

“Yes!” He leaps to respond. “I’ll be so good. Please Silver, I’ll do whatever you want.”

Silver chuckles at him, but he gives a hard grind of his palm in reward and slides his tongue into Jim’s mouth when he parts his lips on a moan. The precome from the younger man’s cock has started to seep through his jeans by now, leaving a small wet spot at the front of his pants, and Silver circles a finger around the area when the kiss breaks.

Jim drops his head back, shuddering all up and down his spine and tiny, helpless cries slipping out of his mouth. 

“That’s it lad, tell me how much ye want it, how good it feels. Wanna hear ye cryin’ for me.” Silver growls, moving down to nip at Jim’s throat.

“It- _mmph,_ it’s good. Your hand feels- _fuck, harder,_ please…” Jim bucks into it. His wrists are starting to hurt with all the pulling on them he’s doing, but it’s too difficult not to squirm around.

Silver kisses over Jim’s collarbones, sliding his free hand under the boy’s shoulders to the back of his neck and digging the fingers in hard. Jim drops his head into it, arching his neck and pushing his chest up as he whines, staring at his hands where they’re tied above him. An almost-bite to his adam’s apple forces a startled cry from his throat, and Jim shakes like a leaf as he tries not to black out from the overstimulation. 

“Good, Jimbo?” Silver asks, but it’s distant. It’s all Jim can do to stay in his own head right now, everything that doesn’t drive him closer to orgasm is inconsequential right at that second. Autopilot takes over, Jim’s tongue moving without his permission or intention.

“Oh my god, I… _daddy-_ ” He gasps, hips moving more aggressively against Silver until the older man pauses.

Jim’s mouth clicks shut and his head snaps up from the bed. His eyes go from half open to wide and round, and Silver looks up to meet his gaze. 

The atmosphere in the cabin is tense and heavy, frozen, and Jim opens and closes his mouth a few times before words return to him.

“That just kind of slipped out.” He mumbles, hoping Silver will take it at face value and move on rather than trying to talk it out. 

“Is that something ye want from this, Jim?” 

Shit, his face is all soft and hesitant. The younger man’s instinct to crush that weird, perverted new side of him is temporarily shoved aside by the idea that maybe Silver is okay with this, maybe he’s into it too? 

Jim shakes himself out of it. His erection isn’t gone, despite the sudden mood change, which really doesn’t help his case. It’s less pressing though, the stress making it hard for either of them to stay in the frame of mind to foster arousal right now.

“I- It’s not- I mean, if you’re not comfortable we don’t have to-” Fuck, he’s stammering. He can’t even get a solid sentence out, no way Silver is going to take him seriously. The tension is slowly seeping back into his muscles, until it’s like it never left in the first place.

Silver’s hand move from the back of Jim’s neck to his cheek, halting the half articulated protests. 

“That’s not what I asked, lad.” 

Jim is defensive, and scared, and his natural instinct to lash out rises to the surface. 

“Yes, okay? I want that. I’m a fucked up kid who wants to call the guy fucking him ‘daddy’.” He snaps, a bitter snarl on his mouth and tears threatening to roll down his cheeks. He wants to wipe at them, to rub his eyes until they’re red and dry and hurting, but his hands are still securely trussed up over his head and rubbing his face on his shoulder isn’t nearly as effective.

“Are you happy now?” Jim mutters, throat wet and angry.

Silver does not, in fact, look happy. His face is usually pretty open, but now Jim can’t get even an indication of his mood. He could be pissed, he could be thinking of throwing Jim overboard and letting him paddle to shore. Nevermind that not once in all their months together has Silver done anything half that cruel.

_“He could be into it.”_ Jim’s arousal whispers, but he ignores it. He can’t let that be a possibility, because if it is and he’s wrong then he’s just going to be even more pissed at himself.

The hand still cupping his cheek moves, the thumb tracing the side of Jim’s nose, down his cheek to the line under his eye. Jim flinches from it, at first, eyes squeezing closed, but the gentle touch calms him enough to open his eyes again. 

“Do you want this?” Silver asks again, softer this time. He’s moved closer, Jim notices.

For all his anger before, Jim can’t pull a bit of it to reinforce his words this time. 

“Yes.” 

His voice cracks, sharp in the quiet lapping of waves against the hull, and he winces. _“Way to sound like an adult, dumbass.”_ He silently chides himself.

“Ask for it.” Silver says, voice even softer, somehow. It’s almost a whisper in volume, but the words are too powerful for that to be accurate. 

Jim swallows. 

“Please.” He murmurs, eyes wide. He wonders if that will be enough, at the same time desperately hoping it won’t. He wants to say it again, he wants Silver to _make_ him say it. 

Silver hums, mouth moving to caress Jim’s throat. His flesh hand slides down the younger man’s chest and belly, petting the soft hair trailing under his belt line. Promising, taunting. Jim’s hips buck up into the pressure, and he gasps as Silver switches his right hand to brace on the bedframe, covering the ropes with his palm. 

“Ye know that isn’t what I meant, Jimbo.” 

Jim can’t breathe. He has to be dreaming, that’s the only way this makes sense. Silver can’t actually be into this, no way his luck is this good in real life. 

If it is a dream, then he might as well enjoy it while it lasts, he reasons. 

“Please, Silver. _Daddy,_ please…” His voice wavers, he almost sounds like he’s singsonging it, but his vocal chords are just so shot from the strain that he can’t make them obey him anymore. 

Silver hums again, lapping his tongue into the hollows of Jim’s throat that form as he struggles to breathe. 

“That’s it, Jimbo. Such a good boy, begging so sweetly.” 

Jim shouts like he’s been punched in the fucking stomach. He might as well have, that string of words is doing terrible things to him, not even considering how attentively his dick has started throbbing again. 

He squirms, tugging on his bonds in the process. His wrists rub against one another, and he tries to squeeze his knees together give himself more leverage, only to be prevented by Silver in the way. 

Silver coos at him again, kissing his chest and playing with the younger man’s straining dick through his pants again. The fingers on his left hand aren’t quite as smoothly dexterous or pinpoint accurate, but they’re warm and softer around the edges where they press and massage, making Jim whimper with every touch.

“Stop teasing me…” He pleads, trying to lock his ankles behind Silver’s back, as if to hold him in place. 

He’s thwarted immediately. Silver takes both of his hands and braces them behind Jim’s knees, pushing the boys legs up towards his chest almost casually, until he’s folded in half. His toes curl uselessly in the air and he tries to fight it, but he’s helpless, and he knows that. 

“Silver…” He whines, digging the back of his head into the pillow, trying to vent his frustration any way he can.

His chest is heaving with every breath. Jim can’t get enough air to fill his lungs, but even so his ribcage freezes in place as Silver leans down towards him. Soft kisses to his collarbone again make him shiver violently.

“Ye know what I want, lad.” Silver purrs, right in Jim’s ear. He moves one thigh to grind between the boy’s legs, emphasis and a taunt all at once.

“Daddy. Please, daddy, I’m so hard…”

Jim’s croaking voice leaps an octave as Silver mouths over his chest. The heat and the pressure of the open mouthed kisses drive him further towards incoherency. He whines again, flexing his chest as much as he can. He whispers the word again, rutting his hips up against Silver as he begs for it in the most wanton, needy voice he can muster. 

“Good. Keep makin’ those noises for me, Jim. Love to hear ye moaning like that.” As he talks, Silver looks up to make eye contact with the boy. He dips his head after and draws his tongue around the hardening nipple, teasing with more kisses before licking and sucking hard enough to bruise.

There’s going to be hickeys all over his chest, when this is done with, but Jim is too busy trying to rut his way to orgasm without his pants coming off to care. 

“Silver, can’t-” His breaths are coming in hot, hyperventilating bursts now, and it’s actually making him a little lightheaded. It’s hard to think, everything in him is only interested in release right now. 

“What's it ye want, boy?” The older man coos, still marking up Jim’s chest with kisses and bites. 

“Can’t come, please, I need- _ah..._ Need you inside…” 

That gets his attention. Silver stops, looks up at Jim in something like wonder and grins. He looks proud, and that alone sends a fresh wave of heat into the younger man’s groin. Jim wonders if he could come from praise alone right now, but doesn’t say anything because his balls are fucking throbbing and it’s starting to hurt more than feel good.

“Not so sure I’m in a position to fuck ye again, lad.” He says, sounding apologetic. Jim whines, grinding his ass against Silver in desperation. “But I can do like we did earlier, aye? Put a finger or two inside and let ye fuck yourself on ‘em.” The older man relents with a chuckle, sliding his hand around Jim’s back to rest at his ass.

“Yeah. I wanna come on your fingers…” Jim nods, wriggling back. 

His pants are pulled down. Not enough to free his cock, but enough to expose his ass. Jim hears the drawer opening again, and the pop of a cap, but he’s so hazy with desire that he doesn’t truly register anything until he’s being rubbed gently by slick fingers.

A wilting, shuddering moan rips it’s way from his chest. His mouth hangs open, tongue lolling out and body jerking as he tries to shove back. 

Jim still aches from that morning, from being stretched to his limit, but the first intrusion feels easier, this time. It’s still a lot, and Silver pauses at the first knuckle to give the boy time to adjust, but he doesn’t have to give instructions to breathe now. 

“Good boy, Jimbo. Relax for me.” 

Jim shudders, cock jerking in the loosened confines of his pants. He tries to release some of the tension in his body, managing to unfurl a bit of the strain held in his thighs as he sighs.

“That’s right,” Silver purrs, already pushing deeper. “Gonna take good care of you, pup.” 

A few minutes of lip biting and half muffled whimpers later and Jim has two fingers inside him, not moving yet but warm and solidly felt. 

“How’s that?” Silver asks, sounding like his normal, controlled self and not at all like he did when they were in this position this morning. Jim misses the desperation, but only distantly, because his own need to come is overwhelming by itself.

“S’good. _God,_ it’s-” Jim grits his teeth, hissing as Silver crooks his fingers just slightly. “ _Fuck,_ it feels _so_ good, please Silver- _daddy,_ it feels amazing.” 

“Oh, ye love this, don’t ye? Lettin’ me rub those tight insides. Ye gonna come from this?” He asks, fucking his fingers in harder as Jim yelps and folds his legs up more. 

“ _Yes!_ God, I’m gonna come.” His words are starting to slur together, losing individuality as Jim falls apart at the seams from the pleasure.

“Don’t even need me to touch your cock. How cute is that?” Silver’s words might sound falsely sweet, coming from anyone else, but the tone in his voice when he calls Jim _cute_ is nothing but genuine. 

Jim tries to focus, to breathe, but he’s so close to coming that he can’t think about anything but the blood rushing between his legs. 

“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna come…” He gasps out, and Silver takes that as a sign to up the ante. 

He doesn’t just crook his fingers, on the next thrust, he twists them. Jim is blindsided by the unexpected sensation, and his whole body twitches like he’s been shocked. He moans as Silver does it again, and again, almost swirling his fingers around inside, murmuring filthy praise all the while. 

The orgasm comes on slowly, and then all at once. Jim feels it, and he tries to say something past his throat closing, but then Silver digs both fingers into the younger man’s prostate and twists again, and it’s all over. 

Jim’s voice breaks on a hoarse moan, as he comes. His legs tense up and everything goes foggy, but past that he can hear Silver humming approvingly. His pants go from irritating and scratchy on his sensitive skin to damp through with release, and Jim knows in some distant part of his mind that he’s going to be bitching about that later, but right now he’s too blissed out to care. 

A moaning sigh slips out of his mouth, and Jim slumps back from where he’d arched into the pleasure. Silver’s fingers slide out of him, and the man himself stands from the bed with an affectionate pat to Jim’s thigh. 

Jim watches him get up, wearily tracking his path to the bathroom and back. His exhaustion is bone deep and all he wants to do is sleep right now. 

The ties come down, releasing Jim’s wrists from the bed, and he lays there limply and lets Silver untangle him from the ropes and his jeans alike. He gets another washcloth sponge bath, this time finished with a gentle kiss to the reddened flesh of either wrist. 

“You made me come in my pants…” Jim accuses as Silver stands up again, words still absent any bite. 

“Ye seemed pretty eager, ‘f I recall.” Silver says back, as he’s coiling up the rope. Jim glares, and of all the times for a witty comeback this would be it, but his brain is still too scrambled from orgasm to work properly. He makes a noncommittal grunt, bringing his arms down and stretching his shoulders. 

There’s a moment of quiet between them, where Jim adjusts to being in control of himself again and tries to convince his muscles to be something other than putty. Silver seems contemplative, unusually serious as he’s looking at the far wall, but Jim doesn’t mention it and he hopes he might avoid the topic their escapade brought up.

He breaths in relief and sits up when the rope goes away, thinking maybe he’s gotten off free, but Jim knows he’s called it too soon when Silver looks at him with that serious, gentle expression.

“We gonna talk about that?” He asks, not unkindly. Jim still cringes, closing his eyes in a wince and looking down at the other side of the mattress.

“Do we have to?” He mutters, even though he knows what Silver is going to say.

The bed dips as Silver sits next to Jim, turning his body towards the younger man and bracing the right hand near his thigh. The other brushes Jim’s hair back, easing his nerves for what’s coming.

“Don’t _have_ to, but I’d feel better ‘f we did.”

He’s not forcing Jim to do anything, but the concern in Silver’s voice makes it clear that he’s not completely comfortable with leaving this alone. They’ll have to have a talk about this sooner or later, and at least if it happens now it’ll be out of the way. 

“Fine.” Jim mumbles, still not looking at Silver. His shame is potent enough as is.

Silver takes a moment to calm Jim down, pulling the younger man towards him gently. Jim is still naked, but Silver’s touch is purely affectionate as he scratches the boy’s neck and the back of his scalp in the way that makes him melt into a puddle. When he does speak, it’s with definite reluctance.

“This about your father?” 

“No!” Jim snaps his head up, anger welling in him. It’s maybe a bit too sharp a response, but it’s not just denial. This may have its roots in his abandonment issues courtesy of Leland, but Jim doesn’t want Silver to get the wrong idea.

He’s meeting Silver’s eyes again, without intending to, and it’s scary but also not as terrifying as he’d feared. Jim still wants to break eye contact, to let his gaze focus on anything else, but now the fear of not knowing what Silver is thinking is overwhelming, and he can’t turn away.

“Look, its-” He huffs, trying to find the words. Silver doesn’t look disbelieving, thankfully, his face staying that same mix of concern and gentleness that makes it uncharacteristically easy for Jim to open up.

“It’s not about Leland, okay? He can go to hell, I don’t care.” He means that, every fucking word of it. For as much confusion as this holds, that has never been in contention. 

“It’s just-” Jim stops himself, taking a few deep breaths to clear his voice of vitriol. “I feel… safe, around you, okay? I’m not worried about anything, because I know you’re gonna take care of it. Of me.” He mumbles the last part. 

Silver stays quiet, but his arms adjust to be that much more snug where they’re holding Jim, and the slight increase in pressure lets him breathe a little easier.

“I dunno. It felt right, at the time.” That’s more of a low mutter than anything, and Jim isn’t entirely sure Silver heard him.

That seems to satisfy the older man, at least for the time being. He gives Jim another good squeeze, not commenting on the shaky sigh or the way the boy relaxes into the too-tight hold.

When he stands and clears his throat Jim feels a little better. Silver is looking at him with nothing but open adoration, when he peeks at the older man’s face, and when he does turn away it’s only to gather up the discarded clothes from the floor. 

“If you’re taking my pants somewhere can I at least have a blanket, or something?” Jim calls, rolling onto his stomach as Silver takes the bundle of clothing into the bathroom. 

“Just putting ‘em through a wash.” Silver says, not acknowledging the obvious bait in the words. He comes back into the cabin with a smirk, continuing. “No use sending ye home in ‘em, after ye made that mess.” 

“You’re the one that made me keep them on.” Jim says into the pillow, trying not to blush.

Silver steps towards the bed again. 

“An’ you’re the one who begged for my fingers like the needy little thing ye are. Not my fault ye couldn’t wait to come for me.” 

His head is tilted down at Jim condescendingly, but he runs a possessive hand down the younger man’s back to counter the tone. 

“Are you calling me a slut?” Jim mumbles, shivering at both the touch and the chill now settling into him. 

Silver smirks but doesn’t respond right away. He throws a blanket over Jim and then scoops both the boy and his fresh cocoon up into his arms. Jim grunts in complaint as he’s manhandled around, until it becomes clear Silver is getting on the bed with him, at which point he tucks himself more snugly into the warmth and lets the older man do as he pleases. Silver settles into laying on the bed, resting his right hand on the back of Jim’s neck while the other curves over his waist to rub his back through the blanket. The position isn’t quite the one they woke up in this morning, the sides switched, but it’s close and warm and Jim has free rein to shuffle himself right up next to his bedmate.

“Only if ye want me to.” Silver whispers his response at length, voice warm and honeyed. It sends a small bolt of want into Jim’s stomach, too soon to be remotely comfortable yet.

“Can we save that for another time? I’m kinda past my limit, here.” 

Silver hums agreement, and they fall into a quiet moment. The constant white noise of the waves is broken up by the bumping and soft rattling of what Jim assumes to be the washing machine, in the bathroom. 

“Why didn’t I know you had a laundry set-up in here?” He asks.

Silver tenses slightly, which Jim notices as odd but dismisses. He shrugs, letting his chin rest on top of the younger man’s head.

“Never needed to use it. Not very big, an’ when you’ve got a house just up the way s’not real practical. Only real useful when you’re livin’ outta the ship, or someone makes a real mess of himself.” There’s a grin in that last statement, and Jim shakes his head affectionately.

It makes sense. For most, doing laundry on a ship meant doing it by hand. The little port town’s laundromat services are booming, with all the passers by sailing in for just long enough to restock and clean themselves up a bit. The Benbow has a list of recommendations for exactly that reason. 

It suddenly occurs to Jim that Silver has a house, near the bay, and that he must have had it not days after showing up. Jim had certainly never seen him before, that would’ve been memorable even if their first encounter wasn’t as dramatic as it was. Neither does he recall the boat, and he doesn’t think it’s coincidence that Silver showed up after a particularly nasty storm.

“How’d you get the house, anyway? You never mentioned it before.” It’s nothing more than curiosity that makes him ask. 

Silver pauses, clearing his throat before speaking.

“Signed a rental on it, day after I arrived. Ship weren’t goin’ nowhere fast, an’ I wasn’t sure she’d be salvageable, then.” He’s speaking with all the ease of his usual manner, but there’s something in his voice that makes Jim uneasy. Nervousness, or something like it.

“That must have been expensive.” He comments, with a halfhearted laugh. Silver shrugs.

“Not ‘s much as ye might think. Place was jus’ gathering dust up on the hill. Think the owner was just waiting for someone to give an offer.” 

“Still, you’d need some pretty good credit for that…” Jim says, mostly impressed, until Silver shakes his head.

“Paying cash for it. Didn’t want to draw too much attention, an’ renting a room wouldn’t exactly be low profile. Least with the house there’s no neighbors ‘round to get nosy.” 

The words themselves set off warning bells, but the cracked tone in Silver’s voice blares all kinds of mental alarms. Jim stiffens, aware that he’s still buck naked and kind of helpless in the older man’s arms. For once it’s not a nice feeling.

“What, are you like… secretly loaded or something?” Jim tries to laugh. His humor turns to nervousness when Silver looks away, though. 

“You’re kinda freaking me out, here.” He mutters, searching the older man’s face for a sign, any kind of indication of what the hell is going on.

For the first time Jim recalls, Silver’s normally open expression shutters. His eyes close off and he glances away, brow furrowing. His hands stay where they are around Jim, but the grip is barely there, like Silver doesn’t dare actually touch the boy. His mouth has twisted, a wince or a flinch, something pained and sad as the silence stretches.

“Jimbo, I-” He starts, then stops. Jim watches him, feeling more and more like fleeing as he does. Except there’s nowhere to flee _to._ The ship isn’t more than twenty feet in any direction, and short of locking himself in the bathroom, Jim doesn’t think escape is a likely plan. Whatever it is Silver wants to tell him, he’s stuck here for it.

“Silver?” Jim pleads.

The older man glances at him, locking eyes and wincing again.

Jim’s heart starts thumping faster as the silence stretches. Adrenaline, stress, some instinct of his second nature is telling him to run, _now_ , before everything changes. 

The soles of his bare feet have barely touched the floor before Silver’s hand wraps around his wrist and tethers Jim to the bed. He pauses, turning back hesitantly to see Silver looking remorseful. And for the life of him, he can’t pull out of the gentle grip on his arm.

When Silver tugs lightly, Jim sits again. Then he lays onto his side, tucking his feet onto the bed, and finally when Silver cups his face Jim lets his head lay on the older man’s mechanical palm.

“It’s not my ship, lad.” He says, closing his eyes as he speaks. 

Jim’s body tightens up. 

“Whose is it?” He whispers, achingly aware that his skull is laying in Silver’s hand, and for the first time wary. 

Silver takes a deep breath, still not looking at Jim. He looks scared, fearful and hesitant, like a dog anticipating a strike.

“Stole it- well, hard to steal from a dead man.” He laughs weakly, and a fearful shudder runs down Jim’s spine. Silver continues, without looking up. “Took it, after the old man died. Natural causes, rest assured.” He peeks at Jim finally, clearly having noticed the tremor. “Much as anything can be natural, in this business.” 

“Business?” Jim echoes, eyes widening, but he doesn’t try to pull away. Despite the instinctual terror coursing through him, at being so near a potential threat, there’s still an unhealthily large part of him completely sure Silver would never lay a finger on him. 

Silver sighs, rubbing his free hand over his face. 

“Remember that trouble I got into, when I was yer age?” Jim nods, and Silver smiles dryly. “It weren’t just trespassin’ and thievery. Got mixed up with some bad people, the kind that like to make sure everyone knows how coldhearted they are.”

“You were in a gang?” 

The thumb pad brushes over Jim’s cheek, softly. It feels impossible, for a touch to be that gentle while they’re having this conversation.

“Of a sort. Crew did all manner a things. Nothin’ good, though.” He wraps the other arm around Jim’s side again, rubbing his back like a nervous tic. “Managed to keep meself out of the worst of it. At their behest, mind, I’ve no illusions ‘bout bein’ some robin hood type. They needed a man who could get around wi’out attractin’ attention to himself.”

“So your record…” Jim asks.

Silver shows his teeth, but it can’t be called a smile, not really.

“Ye’d be amazed what a fake ID an’ two hundred quid can get.” He jokes, and Jim can’t help but scoff humorlessly at that.

“Flint kept things in order, for a while. Longer than I were ever part of the organisation, at least, but it all went to hell when he died.” 

“Natural causes?” Jim prompts, and Silver grins mirthlessly again.

“More or less.” He answers. “After the bastard kicked it, everyone wanted to be in charge. Men what couldn’t handle a dog thought they’d be the best choice, an’ nobody cared much ‘bout what happened in the meantime.” A look somewhere between wistful and bitter settles over Silver’s face. Jim almost thinks it’s homesickness, but the disgusted twist of his mouth belies that.

“You wanted out.” It’s not a question.

“Aye. Lad, I wanted out. It was hellish enough with Flint in charge, but he was one’a the leveller heads, at least. Some’a the sick bastards that wanted his place would’ve slit all our throats just to watch us bleed. I was lucky, they kept me ‘round for smuggling. Weren’t good for much else after this,” He shrugs his right shoulder. “But a man with no record an’ a clever head on his shoulders is a valuable thing.” 

“So you took a ship…” Jim says, starting to piece everything together.

“So I took Flint’s ship. One of ‘em, anyway. He never much cared for this one, too small for the kind of business he liked to do. Only good for hiding out when he needed to be scarce.” Silver explains, a hint of disdain in his voice, like he can’t conceive of anyone not finding this vessel utterly charming. “Organisation cleaned it out an’ left it to rot, after he died. Doubt they even noticed I nabbed it ‘til a while after.” 

Jim lays in silence, for a moment. He’s gathering himself, processing. His fear has faded a little, which is probably stupid since Silver just admitted to being part of a _crime syndicate_ that probably did a lot of terrible things.

“So that night, when I was sneaking around on your ship…” Jim starts.

Silver smiles at him, this one actually amused, if only slightly.

“Thought they’d finally caught up with me.” He admits. “Frankly lad, it’s a good thing ye tried to hide, else I might’ve met ye with the wrong end of a barrel.”

“You had a gun?!” Jim sits up, sounding much more like himself after all the whispering and low tones. Silver laughs at that, an honest to god _laugh,_ and it sounds so nice after all the fear in his voice. 

“Aye. Wasn’t about to shoot ‘til I knew who it was, an’ when I saw your scrawny arse runnin’ for the pantry I figured I was safe. None of ‘em would’ve tried to hide from me, for better or worse.” He strokes Jim’s cheek again, pushing his hair back from where it’s fallen into his face. 

“Would they really chase you?” Jim asks, softening his voice again.

“Might’ve done, took a good chunk of change with me when I left.” Silver murmurs, his thumb stroking the faint lines under Jim’s eye. “Tryin’ to stay low and outta their way, now. Would’ve kept goin’ down the coast too, ‘f that storm hadn’t battered the poor girl near to bits.” 

“You’re on the run.” Jim whispers, breathier than he’d intended. 

“Aye. To tell ye the truth Jimbo, I’m scared, now that you’re in the picture.” 

“Scared?” He repeats, still unsure of what he’s feeling.

Silver smiles, but it’s wry and self deprecating. It’s not the kind of good humor Jim is used to, from him, it’s colder. 

“Got somethin’ to lose now, somethin’ I never had before.” His right hand brushes through Jim’s hair, punctuating the statement. 

Sitting up and looking down at Silver feels wrong, right now. Slowly, Jim lays back down, settling his head on the older man’s hand and resting his fingers on the wrist, to keep him there.

“You really were gonna leave.” Jim mumbles.

Silver’s smile turns sad.

“Meant to. Never was gonna stay after the ship was fixed, an’ I didn’t think that would take long. But after meetin’ you...” He sighs, paragraphs upon pages of meaning compressed into a single, non-verbal noise.

Jim’s heart squeezes in his chest. Silver was going to leave, was going to run for his life, but he didn’t, _because of Jim_ . He didn’t want to leave _Jim_ , and that is the _only_ reason he stayed. Against all logic, every smart decision, Silver decided to stay, because the thought of abandoning _Jim_ hurt him too much.

The distance is unbearable, all of the sudden. Jim is crying as he flings himself into Silver’s chest, and the arms that close around him are heavy and loving and comforting like nothing has been in so, so long. 

“I shouldn’t trust you, should I?” Jim whispers through tears, nonetheless gripping the back of the other man’s shirt in his fists.

Silver swallows, thickly. He shakes his head, the motion not seen but felt in the way it ruffles Jim’s hair slightly. He clutches the boy tighter all the same.

“What if I want to anyway?” Jim asks, in a hiccoughing, weak voice. His eyes are wide and frightened, body tense where he’s laying tucked in the older man’s arms, but the warmth surrounding him is comfort given physical form and he doesn’t want to leave.

Silver doesn’t say anything. His chest shudders on a harsh exhale and he bows his head towards the younger man, burying his nose in the messy hair and kissing at the crown of Jim’s head. 

“Are they still after you?” Jim asks, when his breath stops hitching at every inhale. 

Silver pauses, hesitates. Jim can feel him thinking, in the way his hand keeps stopping and starting again.

“Hard to say. Haven’t seen ‘em since I left.” He murmurs, into Jim’s hair. “Figured they had to be, at first, but…” 

Jim hears what he isn’t saying. Trepidation covered in hope. 

“If… if you wanted to stay, I’d… I’d really like that.” He mumbles, cuddling closer. 

Silver laughs, weak and disbelieving. He bundles the still naked boy up tighter, tucking the smaller form against his chest possessively.

“I’ll stay.” He says, caressing the back of Jim’s head with his thumb. Jim sniffs, tilting his head back to press into Silver’s hands and kiss him. His hands settle to the older man’s chest, and he twists them in his shirt to pull them closer.

“I’ll stay s’long as ye want me to.” 


	8. Changing the Status Quo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are different, after the weekend.

As they’re pulling the ship into the docks the next morning, Jim finds he’s more relaxed than he can remember being in weeks. He’s sore, body aching fiercely in places after the last night, but the smile on his face won’t go away. 

They’d gone to bed together again last night, after dinner. Jim had mourned not remembering going to sleep the night before, so getting to experience the full night time ritual was gratifying, even if it was the last time they could share a bed for a while. 

He’s reluctant to leave, even after the ship is tied up back in place, but Silver shoos him off to go see his mother again. His phone hadn’t been flooded with calls as soon as he had service again, but he’s not interested in pushing his luck, so he acquiesces.

Jim’s first steps on land are unsteady, after spending so long on the boat. He picks his way up the hill, hands staying warm in his pockets.

Sarah doesn’t look annoyed at least, when she spots Jim in the door. The inn is lively today, thanks to the Smollett-Doppler children currently running only partially supervised around the main room. It’s empty aside from that, as it usually is this time of year. Any boarders would be hunkered down in more permanent residences for the winter, and the inn is left to the small groups of locals who filter through. 

Jim is immediately mobbed by the trio of four year old girls, shouting and giggling at him incomprehensively. While on another day it might be irritating, Jim is still infectiously happy and he humors their babbling as he walks in.

“You’re home on time.” Sarah comments, with a hand on her hip. She sounds surprised, and Jim tries not to take offense at that. 

“Yeah. It was pretty calm out, today.” 

“Good to see you’ve made it safely back, Mr. Hawkins.” Amelia comments, when she manages to extricate the boy from the grip of her offspring. “I was actually hoping to find you, today, for a short discussion if possible.” 

Jim finally notices a manila folder on the table.

“Yeah?” He asks, apprehensive. She doesn’t  _ look  _ like she’s about to deliver bad news, but Amelia is very good at regulating her expressions. 

“Nothing so serious as all that.” She assures. “The background check I had performed on Silver has finally come back, and seeing as you previously expressed apprehension I believed it would be of interest.”

Ice floods Jim’s veins regardless of her calming words. What has she found? Silver said he didn’t have anything on his record, but Amelia is  _ very  _ thorough. Could she have spotted something amiss?

When she opens the folder and hands him the papers Jim scans them. The list of offenses is lengthy, but not unlike Jim’s own rap sheet. Trespassing, shoplifting, violation of parole. Not great, but the deeds taper off around age seventeen. It looks, for all intents and purposes, like Silver had a rough few years as a teenager before turning it around. Jim knows the story behind it, but to everyone else it seems innocuous. 

Jim tries not to gulp as he hands the paper back.

“Seems fine.” 

Amelia nods.

“Not ideal, certainly, but I knew to expect some manner of trouble in his history. Nevertheless, I hope this has addressed your concerns?” 

Jim struggles not to laugh outright. 

“Yeah, no. It’s, uh… It’s good. We’re all good.” 

Amelia nods again, packing the folder away into her bag. 

It’s Delbert who speaks up next, looking up from where he’s holding his and Amelia’s youngest and smiling cheerfully.

“A remarkably similar situation to yours, actually, Jim. I think you could learn a lot from this mentorship. A firm and experienced hand may yet mould a young man to do great things!” He says, with all the well meaning obliviousness he usually carries.

Jim bites his tongue hard, chewing on the inside of his cheek to keep from snorting. Oh yeah, he’s learned  _ plenty  _ from Silver, especially this past weekend, but somehow he doesn’t think that’s what Delbert is referring to. Amelia and Sarah both give Delbert exasperated stares when they think Jim isn’t looking, but he ignores them. He’s not nearly as bothered by the implications as he would have been a couple of months ago.

The family leaves shortly thereafter, the inn quiet in their absence. Jim hops right into his chores, aware that he left his mother a hand short with no forewarning over the weekend. Strangely, Sarah doesn’t seem all that annoyed at Jim for leaving. He waits until after the Doppler-Smollett's leave, expecting to to feel her wrath, but his mother doesn’t have any sharp words for him as he quietly goes about his work.

Jim keeps tiptoeing around her until she’s had enough and gently corners him in the laundry room in the evening. He’s just putting his clothes from the weekend in, along with some extra dirty clothes for good measure when she sneaks up into the doorway, blocking him in.

“You’re quiet, today.” 

The words make Jim startle, and he turns with a guilty look at his mom. 

“Yeah. I’m just tired. It was a lot of work, running the ship.” It’s not a  _ lie  _ per se, but it’s definitely less than the truth. All the same, Jim doesn’t feel nearly as guilty about his dishonesty now as he’s been before. At least this time he wasn’t stealing something.

A sympathetic smile comes over his mother’s face, something Jim hasn’t seen in so long that he’s shocked by it. 

“You know, when you texted me that you were going out on the ship, I was scared you weren’t coming back.”

She says it with a smile still, but the fear in her tone is sobering. Jim bites his tongue, shame blooming in his stomach. He looks away and starts the washing machine just so he doesn’t have to look at her.

“Sorry mom.” He mumbles, over the sound of the water running into the basin. 

She laughs, wet but honest, and relief replaces a fraction of the fear.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I know it was just for the weekend. I think you deserve a couple days having fun after this year, anyway.” 

Jim pauses. 

“After getting suspended again?” He’s not eager to remind her, but the fact still stands. 

“Only once, and that was the first issue you’ve had all year.” She sounds proud, weirdly, and Jim feels another pang that the bar has been dropped so incredibly low that  _ only _ one suspension means positive progress. 

He looks away again, and Sarah sighs.

“I know this summer was hard on you, but Jim, I really think it helped.” She steps in, grabbing his shoulder in one hand and his cheek in the other, turning her boy to face her. “I hadn’t gotten a call from the school  _ once  _ before the fight. Not about grades, or attitude, or  _ anything. _ ” 

Jim meets her eyes, and he notices for the first time in far too long that she looks hopeful. He shrugs. 

“I guess breaking into the boat wasn’t the worst thing in the world.” He jokes. Sarah smiles at him.

“I don’t think it has a lot to do with the boat, sweetheart.” 

Jim blinks, processing what she’s not saying. She pushes his hair back, to look at his eyes, and he smiles back. 

“Go ahead and get some rest, if you want.” She says, stepping back. “This new work ethic is nice, but I want my boy rested up for school tomorrow. I know Silver doesn’t exactly go easy on you.” Jim is glad his mother has released him, it's easier to hide his blush when he turns back towards the washer. 

“I’m just gonna wait for this to finish and I’ll probably go to bed.” 

Jim watches her nod from the corner of his eye, but she doesn’t walk away immediately.

“I know this was kind of forced on you, but…” Sarah looks tired, but she’s still smiling faintly. “Thank you. For trying. I haven’t seen you look this happy in a long time.” 

Jim doesn’t try to hide his smile back. He  _ is  _ happier. There have been some ups and downs, these past months, but sheer proximity to Silver has made Jim more even keeled. He doesn’t feel quite so lost anymore. 

He knows tying his stability to a virtual stranger is unhealthy, that it’s just as likely as not to end in disaster. At the same time Silver has never been anything but sturdy, and he’s always made the boy feel welcome and wanted in a way few others have done.

“I don’t think I’ve  _ been _ this happy in a long time.” Jim admits quietly, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

He fears maybe that might sting, or that his mom would get annoyed at him for that, but she just smiles wider, if a little more teary eyed. She pulls him into a tight hug that’s warm with her pride and ends it with a distinctly wet sounding “I love you.” 

Jim goes to bed not long after. He  _ is  _ exhausted, after all the exertion of the last few days, and for the first time in weeks he doesn’t have the urge to rub one out. 

He still pulls out his phone, composing a message to Silver.

_ “Good news, I’m not grounded. Mom was cool with me running off for a weekend. My suspensions up tomorrow, but I’ll meet you after school?” _

The response comes quickly.

_ “I’ll have plenty of work waiting.” _

Jim makes a face at his phone, but he’s smiling as he types back. 

_ “Goodnight to you too” _

* * *

The first day of school is, predictably, dull. None of Jim’s teachers or classmates are exactly enthused to see him, and he feels the same. He doesn’t get into any fights, at least. 

All in all, it’s not as bad as it could be. Jim hands in all the work he’d been accumulating over the past three weeks, and none of his teachers have anything much to say about that. Some of them look quietly surprised, that he doesn’t simply resume his position at the back of the class and ignore them. When he passes Miles Newton in the hallway the other boy is still sporting a bruise on his cheek, but he’s mostly left alone. 

School passes uneventfully, which is a relief. The ride home takes longer than usual, for Jim. The trail that goes over a mountain and connects the school to the inn is covered in ice that his bike can’t navigate, so he’s relegated to the salted roads like everyone else. A light snowfall starts up, and Jim knows it’s slated to go on until midday tomorrow. He hopes for a day off school, even though it’s unlikely and he’s just gotten back from a makeshift vacation anyway. 

He puts his bike away at the inn, instead of going straight for the docks today. Jim checks in with his mother, letting her know that he made it through the day without getting expelled, and she waves him off to go do “whatever it is Silver needs you for.” 

Jim grins to himself, picking his way down the hillside. He’d considered skipping class altogether, today, just to meet Silver earlier, but he doubts the older man would approve of that. And anyway, he doesn’t need to give his mom or Amelia any excuses to separate them. Jim will spend the rest of his school career on his best behavior if it means he gets to spend his free time on the boat.

The docks are nearly deserted, this time of year. There’s boats still in the water, sure, but they’re all locals or fishermen who have closed up shop for the winter. The little port isn’t half as busy as it is in the peak of summertime, and even then Jim can pick a strangers boat out of the pack like a wolf on an injured sheep. 

The new ship that's taken up a spot is, by all accounts, average looking. It’s a small yacht with a white exterior that's scuffed, in places, but well maintained. Jim’s fingers twitch, in his pockets, old instincts needling at him to poke his head around and case the ship before he snaps his head forwards. 

Nope, not happening. It was one thing breaking and entering when he had little to lose, but now? He can keep his worse habits in check. 

Still, the ship draws his attention. Jim makes a note of it, if only because it’s odd, for a newcomer this late in the season, but then the moment passes, and he’s boarding the only ship he gives a damn about.

The stairs herald his arrival with a creak, and when Jim reaches the bottom he finds Silver leaning around the door to the machine room, no doubt checking the identity of the intruder.

“There ye are. Thought ye might have skipped out on me after all.” He calls from around the corner. 

“I’m five minutes late.” Jim counters, with an annoyed lilt. “I had to park my bike up the hill. Digging it out of the ice is a pain this time of year.” 

Silver makes a sympathetic noise. Jim lingers in the galley for a minute, before picking a protein bar from the box on the counter and going to observe whatever Silver is doing. 

The school doesn’t feed them well, and it didn’t take long for Silver to notice. He started stashing meal bars on the ship, things Jim has never once seen the other man touch, but that he keeps a steady supply of. They can only be for Jim, and neither of them have ever mentioned it, but every time he takes one he catches Silver smiling at him when he thinks the boy isn’t looking.

Jim chews lazily on the glorified candy bar as he leans in the doorway. Silver is working on the fuel lines, checking and double checking them the way he did after they installed the fix on Jim’s bike. The scale is different, sure, but most of the mechanics are the same.

He doesn’t ask for help, and Jim is grateful for that. Yeah, he wants to spend time with Silver no matter what that entails, but he’s also hoping for something a little more relaxed this afternoon. The ship sailed just fine over the weekend, in any case, and after spending all day around people who at best ignore him, he’s drained. Jim just wants an excuse to let Silver hold him, today.

He’s just finishing the last bite of the bar when Silver stands up, apparently satisfied that the ship isn’t falling apart. 

“All good?” Jim asks. Silver shrugs, wiping his hands on a rag.

“One’a the lines kept wantin’ to freeze. Should be nice an’ warm now though.” 

The chocolate coating from the bar has left a residue on the end of some of Jim’s fingers, and as Silver is talking he sticks his thumb into his mouth to lick it off. He’s not thinking about it, this is something he’s done a dozen times before, but this time he’s brought up short by a hand that closes around his wrist.

Jim looks up at Silver, where the man is now standing in front of him. He doesn’t look angry or annoyed, but there’s a darkness in his eyes that Jim recognises as want, and he realises too late what he was just doing, how it might look from the outside.

“Sorry.” He mutters, through an anxious laugh. His thumb is clean, but the first and middle fingers still have a smear of melted chocolate on them. Jim can’t look away from Silver, and he notices the subtle flickering of the man’s gaze from the boy’s lips to his eyes.

“What am I gonna do with ye?” Silver asks, dipping his head lower as if to kiss Jim. 

Jim shrugs. His hand is still held between them, captive in Silver’s mechanical grip, and he’s been backed up against the door. Silver’s other hand rests on the wall, thumb settling in the gap between Jim’s back and the doorjamb while his fingers grip the moulding. 

The older man doesn’t tower over Jim, despite the height difference. He’s not frightening enough for that. All the same, it makes Jim feel small, and trapped.

“You could kiss me?” He suggests, tilting his head opposite the other man to illustrate. 

Silver hums, breaking eye contact and looking instead to Jim’s hand, where it’s half curled in the air between them. He flicks his eyes back and forth quickly, and Jim guesses what he’s doing a second before Silver smiles deviously and licks the two forefingers into his mouth. 

Jim can’t make his lungs work to breathe properly. All the same, a thick gulp fills the room, as he gets the same treatment he gave to Silver’s hand in the shower the other day. Jim recognises the same motions as when he and Silver are kissing, only now it’s on the callouses of his fingers where they’re frozen in surprise.

When he pulls away Jim can breathe again, and a thought occurs to him in a flash.

“How many times have I done that without noticing?” He asks through a heady blush.

Silver makes a noise. Not quite a laugh, it’s too strained, but not a hum either. Instead of answering right away, he nuzzles into the space between Jim’s neck and his shoulder.

“Lost count. Couldn’t tell ye how long I wanted to do that.” He admits.

Jim closes his eyes and groans, annoyed at himself. How oblivious could he have been? Sucking on his fingers like that, probably every time he had something on them. As suggestive as it must have been, he’s amazed Silver didn’t jump him earlier. 

Jim leans into Silver, mirroring him and burying his face in the older man’s shoulder. The smell of grease and gasoline is heavy on his clothes, but under it Jim can catch whiffs of the smokey scent he’s used to. 

It shouldn’t be that easy to turn him on, especially after the weekend's activities, but the familiar coilings of arousal wind through his guts all the same.

“ _ Mmm _ , Silver…” Jim groans, curling both his hands in the other man’s shirt. 

Silver laughs softly, beginning to mouth and kiss at the side of Jim’s throat. A whimper slips out, in response, as he bucks his hips into the larger frame.

“One day apart an’ you’re already like this again, hm?” Silver teases.

“You started it.” Jim whines back, grinding into him harder.

Silver allows that for a while, pressing his good knee between the younger man’s legs and holding him there. Jim keeps going, undeterred by the close quarters and happy to be pinned between Silver and the wall. 

His first real moan is into a kiss, the sound vibrating between them and caught in their mouths. Silver plays with Jim’s tongue, surely tasting more of what he’d licked off the boy’s fingers, but to Jim all he can feel is the warmth and the slick softness of the other man’s mouth. The kiss only increases the throbbing between his legs, and when he arches his back to shove their hips together he can feel Silver reacting as well. 

Jim tries to mumble something, without breaking from the kiss, but his words come out muffled and hard to understand. 

Silver pulls away, still smirking against Jim’s cheek as he asks, “What’s that, lad?” 

“ _ Ah- _ the bed...” Jim gasps out, eyes rolling back in his head as his the older man presses harder on his erection. “Can we take this to the bed?” 

He’s struggling to focus already, throat feeling dry even though he can still taste Silver on his tongue. 

Jim is anticipating more teasing. He’s ready to get chastised, or poked fun at, and he’s so busy readying a snide response that he totally forgets to account for Silver’s unpredictability.

Silver stepping away gives Jim pause, and a hand on his side pulling him out of the doorway is equally unexpected. It’s only once he’s out in the relative open of the galley that the older man’s true intentions become clear. Jim gasps as he’s picked up, scrambling for purchase despite the confident grip around his back and under his thighs. It’s not a bridal carry, Jim essentially sitting in Silver’s hands with his legs hiked up. He tightens them, securing himself around the other man like a koala and clasping his hands around Silver’s shoulders for good measure.

The walk to the cabin is slow, filled with pauses as Jim leans down for more kisses and Silver stops to oblige him. The roof of the ship’s interior is tall enough that the ceiling doesn’t pose a risk of hitting Jim until the doorway, where Silver murmurs at him to mind his head. 

It’s such a small thing, but it makes Jim ache with affection and desire both. He can’t rut himself against the other man like this, unable to get enough leverage, but the pressure of just being held against him is nice enough on it’s own.

When Silver stops at the bed Jim tries to break the kiss, to let them separate, but he’s allowed all of one breath before his lips are captured again. He groans, weakly protesting until Silver lays him onto his back on the bed, still kissing Jim deeply as he covers the boy’s body with his own. 

The discontented noises hitch, and then stop completely when Jim realizes his hips are free to move now. His next groan is one of bliss, a drawn out sound of euphoria that amplifies as the kiss finally breaks. 

Jim’s legs are still wrapped as tightly around Silver as he can manage. When Silver props himself up he’s kept in place, and he looks down with a chuckle. 

“Not goin’ anywhere.” He murmurs, kneading his fingers into Jim’s thighs. 

The lighting in the cabin is soft. It’s hazy, lit mostly by the tiny window near the ceiling, and even that is interrupted by the blinds. Everything feels a little bit gentler, in here.

“I know.” Jim says, not letting go.

A moment passes like that, the two of them staring at one another, Jim trying to make his legs release and failing. 

“Can we close the door?” He says, eventually. His voice is husky, throat strained from the effort of breathing through his arousal. Silver nods, but doesn’t move immediately.

“Ye gotta let me up first, lad.” He points out, not stopping his hands. 

That finally pulls Jim out of his stupor. He lets go, allowing Silver to get up and close the cabin door. As soon as they’re separated his erection reminds him that yeah, maybe time to move things along here. Kissing is nice and all, but he’s kind of hoping for more. 

By the time Silver comes back to the bed Jim has tossed away his jacket and pants, and is working on his boxers. His shirt stays on, because it’s just that bit too cold for comfort, and he doesn’t think Silver will mind all that much. Silver pauses at the bedside to disrobe himself, pulling off first his shirt and then unbuttoning his pants.

Jim watches, sitting up on his elbows and biting his lip. He lets one hand wander, palming his newly freed erection as Silver takes his time undressing. 

The moment after he’s finally fully naked again is shorter than Jim would like, but the fact that Silver is moving overtop of him prevents any complaining. They meet in another kiss, Silver’s flesh hand rucking up Jim’s shirt and making the boy moan with a tug at his nipple.

Their dicks are almost touching, with the way they’re laying. Silver ruts them together, bringing a hand down to provide guidance and squeeze their cocks into his palm. 

“ _ Ah-  _ w-wait…” Jim gasps, breaking the kiss. 

Silver stops, not removing his hand but freezing in place, waiting.

“I wanna- wanna do it another way.” Jim says, between panting breaths. He brings his hands up to Silver’s chest and pushes slightly, asking for space and already so entrenched in the desire that he doesn’t have an ounce of shame for what he’s about to do.

Silver sits up, still propped up over top of Jim but allowing freedom of movement, which the boy uses to roll himself over. He lays belly down, chin on the blankets and gripping the sheets tightly in his fists as he wriggles his hips up, knees under him as much as the space will allow.

“Fuck me?” Jim asks, angling his wide, begging eyes over his shoulder, as if the position didn’t scream it loudly enough already.

Silver doesn’t move, for a heartbeat. He stays on hands and knees on top of Jim, frozen as if in shock. It’s only when Jim lets out a whimper and grinds his ass back that the older man finally moves. 

He drops forward, burying his nose in the side of Jim’s neck and breathing in. His right hand tangles hard in the blankets while the left comes to caress Jim’s chest, pulling him up into the mouth now kissing at his shoulder. 

“Oh, if you could hear yerself…” He growls. 

“Yeah, tell me.” Jim pleads, in a thin voice. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

Silver grins against the younger man’s shoulder, chuckling under his breath and sending shivers down Jim’s spine. He rolls his hips slowly, rubbing his dick over the crease of Jim’s ass and smearing precome as he does so. 

“Oh, sweet boy. Listen to you, begging for somethin’ to fill you up.” 

Jim shudders again, letting out a breathy groan and rocking back on his knees. He nods, fumbling for purchase on the sheets.

“ _ Fuck yeah _ , I want you in me. Wanna take your cock.” 

The hand caressing his side under his shirt moves away, and a sound at the side of the bed alerts Jim that Silver is digging through the drawer within. He looks over, whimpering helplessly at the sight and falling onto his chest again without anything to hold him up. 

“Shhh, shhh. That’s it, lad.” Silver murmurs, talking into Jim’s ear as he reaches around him to slick up his fingers. Jim cranes his neck over his shoulder to watch, stuttering out a moan and squirming impatiently. 

“So horny, so fuckin’ horny, Silver please…” Jim begs more, only stopping when he feels the slippery digits pressing at his ass.

The stretch comes easier, this time. Jim winces at the slight discomfort but it doesn’t hurt, and within just a minute or two he’s earned a second finger rubbing around inside. 

“Openin’ right up for me, ey?” Silver twists his hand and presses both fingers in deep, until he hits upon Jim’s sweet spot and sends the boy reeling. 

“ _ Ah! Yes!  _ So eager, been waiting all day for this…” Jim admits, his voice muffled as he buries his face in the blankets. 

“Have ye now?” Silver continues, conversationally. 

“ _ Mm-hmm… _ ” Jim whines, nodding. Another sharp twist ripples through him, this time accompanied by the fingers separating, scissoring inside him. “ _ Fuck! _ I couldn’t stop thinking about the weekend. How it felt, when you fucked me…” 

Jim trails off on a sigh, until Silver moves down and kisses his neck. His free hand pulls at the collar of Jim’s shirt, exposing more of the skin to his mouth as he goes. Jim moans, pushing himself up onto his arms to lean into it, into the hint of teeth he can feel against his skin. 

“Did it feel good, then? Gettin’ fucked good an’ hard like you’ve been wantin’?” The older man asks, biting down just slightly. 

Jim tips his head away, his eyes rolling back in his head. 

“So good.” He mutters, nearly delirious. “Silver-  _ daddy,  _ please… want…” 

A tsk, against his shoulder. Jim can hear his heart pounding in his ears, louder than anything else in the world, except for where he’s attuned to Silver’s hungry purr. 

“Ask for it, pup.” His fingers stop, a third poised to push into Jim, but that isn’t what the boy asks for.

“Bite me.” He whispers, eyes slipping shut. 

That can’t have been what Silver was expecting, but to his credit, he doesn’t miss a beat. He sinks his teeth into Jim’s shoulder, into the muscle that bridges his neck and his arm socket.

“Oh  _ god _ .” Jim gasps, his hips bucking as Silver licks more gently at what will surely be an exceptional bruise tomorrow. He kisses it, moving a few inches away to suck a hickey beside the place where his teeth just barely avoided breaking the skin. 

“Like yourself a little pain, don’t ye lad?” Silver asks, as he works his third finger inside. Jim doesn’t comment, too invested in fucking himself slowly on Silver’s fingers. When he rolls his hips back just right he can feel them pressing into his prostate, and he sinks onto the mattress again, arms stretched out in front of him as he pants. 

Silver laughs to himself again, settling back. The prickle of his gaze wanders up and down Jim’s back, as he watches the boy biting back plaintive cries. 

“Think you’re ‘bout ready for more.” He says, scissoring his fingers again experimentally. Jim’s back bows further, his mouth dropping open in a surprised hitch. 

Jim feels everything slow, and it’s only the telltale sounds of Silver tearing open a foil behind him that stop him immediately mewling for more. He turns, angling his hips away until he can see Silver where he’s putting on the condom and slicking himself up. He catches Jim’s eye, smirking, and then he’s moving back over the younger man and lining up to shove inside.

“Ready?” He rasps, when the tip is resting against Jim’s entrance, tauntingly close.

Jim can’t get his voice to work. He nods, canting his hips back and whining desperately, gulping air like any breath might be his last. 

He sucks in a long gasp as Silver pushes in. He goes slowly, still cautious even though Jim is better prepared than last time, and there’s no pain as he works his way deeper.

“That’s it. All stretched an’ ready for me.” His voice sounds hoarse, and Jim swallows audibly in response. Silver laughs at that, putting more of his weight on the younger man as he leans down to kiss the back of Jim’s neck and mutter more filthy nothings.

Silver pauses when he’s settled himself fully inside. Jim can feel them pressed together from thigh to chest, Silver on top of him and only just supporting his own weight, allowing the smaller man to squirm while keeping him suitably pinned. 

“ _ God _ … fucking…” Jim tries to speak, but an unintentional twitch of his hips sends a spark of pleasure racing up his spine, and the words he was trying to string together vanish off his tongue. 

“What’s that, Jimbo?” 

He doesn’t reply except for a weak moan, and that prompts a laugh. 

“Couldn’t wait to have me bury my cock in that perfect little arse again, could ye?” Silver asks, as he finally starts moving. The pace is glacial, too slow to really hit Jim’s prostate in any meaningful way, but the careful grinding means he feels every inch of the length inside him acutely, and it’s  _ incredible _ .

“ _ Hnnn, hah...  _ yeah, so-  _ fuck.  _ So ready for this.” 

They fall silent for a moment, just the sounds of the sheets rustling and their breathing filling the cabin. Silver pants into the back of Jim’s neck, nuzzling into his hair and sucking marks just below the collar of his shirt. 

Jim’s hair is already mussed, but it only gets moreso as he pushes a hand through it with a shaky groan. 

“C’mon, move…” He grits, sweat dampening his hair. 

Silver bites down again, gently, licking over the marks just after. 

“How d’ya ask nicely?” He breathes, right hand sliding under Jim’s shirt to splay the fingers across his stomach and grip his waist.

“Please, daddy. Fuck me harder,  _ please _ .” Jim doesn’t even have the brainpower to plead properly, and the words come out weak and mumbled into the sheets. 

Silver doesn’t begrudge him that. His hands move up, bracing just over Jim’s shoulders on the bedding as the force behind his thrusts ramps up. There’s distance between them now, cold air between Jim’s back and Silver’s chest, and much as Jim resents that the different angle is hitting all the right places and he doesn’t want it to stop.

The blankets slip, where they’re bunched in his fingers, and in the frantic scramble for purchase Jim ends up wrapping his fingers around either of Silver’s wrists. The older man is much more stable than the bedding ever was, and with the added leverage Jim works his shoulders and knees to shove himself back into every roll of their hips. 

With every thrust, tiny adjustments are made, on either side, until they’re working together smoothly and effortlessly, so easy they might as well be reading one another’s minds. The rhythm is perfect, growling pants mixed with whimpering moans and underneath it all the slick sounds of sex. 

A pained sounding groan is the first to break the steady stream of gasping and moaning, and when Silver speaks he sounds like he’s just barely holding himself back.

“So close, aren’t ye lad?” He rasps. Jim gulps back a whine and nods, a helpless  _ “Mm-hm”  _ escaping, and there’s a smile in the older man’s voice when he speaks again. 

“G’on then. Tug yerself off for me, lemme feel you come.” 

Without hesitation Jim complies. He braces his left arm in front of him, laying his forehead against it and lifting his spine slightly. His right hand falls to his dick, and he’s already so wet from the precome and the extra lube that he doesn’t even need to spit into his hand for it to feel good. 

He keens, a shuddering noise that wavers and falters with every slide of his hand. He matches Silver’s movements, rocking himself back on the thrusts in and forward into his own hand when the older man pulls out. It’s overwhelming, Jim’s every nerve tight and his pulse racing.

“H- _ harder… _ ” Jim snarls, feeling the razor’s edge of orgasm nearing, and Silver laughs savagely in response but fucks the boy rougher all the same.

Silver rumbles faint praise under his breath as he hilts all the way into the boy, and the next thrust in hits Jim’s sweet spot hard enough to startle him with the force of his orgasm. He shouts, surprise and pleasure coming out in a lilting, pleading cry as he spills over his fist. 

Silver comes not long after. He sinks the fingers on his left hand into Jim’s hair, tangling and pulling, unexpectedly gently despite the harsh gasp that punches out of him. 

Jim is totally limp, and he only grunts softly as Silver lowers himself down again. He’s not crushing Jim, most of his weight held on his knees and forearms where they rest on the bed. The warmth of the other man overtop of him is calming, in a weird way. It makes it easier to relax, even more when Silver presses lazy kisses to the side of Jim’s throat.

He sighs, shuffling on his knees slightly to bring some feeling back into his limbs. Jim still protests when Silver heaves himself up and separates them, but it’s halfhearted because he knows Silver is coming right back. Sure enough, the light in the bathroom flips on right as Jim rolls onto his side on the bed. 

He watches Silver return through half lowered eyelids. He lets himself be cleaned up like every other time they’ve fucked, and then pinned to the bed underneath Silver again. The embrace is distinctly softer now, without any of the aggression or commanding energy that drives Jim crazy during sex. 

“Managed not to get grounded, did ye?” Silver speaks first, breaking the silence as he’s smoothing a hand over Jim’s shoulders. 

Jim hums, blinking open his eyes from where they’d slid shut. He’s facing Silver, curled up close to him but not touching, and he has plenty of room to reach out and trace his fingers over the bared skin and scars in front of him.

“Yeah.” He answers, glancing up at the older man’s face for any signs of unease before he continues touching. “Mom was fine with it. I think she was just glad I couldn’t get into trouble, being out on the water like that.”

They keep touching, almost petting one another. Jim laughs, the memory of his return coming back to him. 

“Amelia showed me your record. The official one.” Silver doesn’t tense up in reaction to that, but Jim isn’t sure if he’s legitimately unaffected or just suppressing his nerves. “I don’t think she noticed anything weird.” 

Silver laughs at that, but it sounds slightly bitter to Jim.

“Ye don’t have to keep an eye out for me, lad. I can take care of meself.” Jim blinks, surprised at that. 

“I know.” He says, only a little defensively. “I just… don’t want you to worry, or anything.” 

Silver sighs, and Jim feels a kiss to the crown of his head. Apology, maybe, or something like it.

“You’re a good lad, Jim. I just don’t want ye to feel like ye need to be protectin’ me.” 

Jim feels a pang in his chest. Silver is the one at risk here, but all he’s concerned about is Jim compromising himself. He cuddles up closer defiantly, sticking his face into Silver’s shoulder.

“Who says I’m protecting you? Maybe I just want to make sure you don’t have an excuse to run away.” 

That earns him an actual laugh, and Silver buries his nose in Jim’s hair to just breathe him in. His grip around the boy tightens with their adjustment, the left hand index finger drawing a line down the center of Jim’s back. 

“There’s a new boat on the dock, today.” He speaks up, airing the unease that had prickled at him earlier.

Silver does react to this news, picking up his head and fixing Jim with a searching stare.

“Anything happen?”

“...No. Just got a bad feeling.” He answers, with some embarrassment. “Just- it’s weird. Nobody ever shows up this time of year, y’know? Made me wonder…”

“Ye think it’s someone after me.” Silver finishes, his voice calm but more serious than his usual gentle teasing. 

“...Could it be?” Jim asks, angling his head back to search the older man’s face.

Silver contemplates that, for a moment, before shaking his head.

“If they knew where I was they wouldn’t be waiting ‘round to act.” He cups the back of Jim’s head, tucking his face down into his shoulder again. His grip is protective in spite of his words, but even through the worry Jim feels safer than he’s ever been.

They do get some work done, that afternoon, if only to give Jim some plausible deniability in case his mother asks. He’s calmer, even when the lingering sated feeling fades, something he attributes to the almost half an hour they spend in bed, talking softly and curled around one another.

He has to go home eventually. He may have spent the night here once before, and going away for the weekend was one thing, but Jim doesn’t want to risk drawing his mother’s attention to this. The less out of the ordinary he acts, the less suspicious she will be. 

Jim shoves his hands deep into his pockets on the walk, burrowing into his jacket collar. The light snowfall from earlier in the afternoon has strengthened, but not by much. Jim fishes his phone out of his pocket but refrains from turning on the flashlight just yet, the light from the overhead streetlamps efficiently illuminating the docks and the parking lot beyond them. 

The parking lot is, predictably, barren. A few vehicles are parked in scattered places, but Jim doesn’t pay them any mind as he’s crossing in the direction of the inn. 

The sound of a car starting up gets his attention, though. Jim stops, turning to check that he’s out of the way and scanning the lot again, and this time he notices headlights. An old, rusted sedan, parked clear across the way from Jim. He doesn’t look away immediately, noticing the driver’s side door is open and that a man is standing in the space like he just got out. Not weird, except that this guy is staring at him. 

Jim glances up the hill behind him, checking that the man isn’t looking at anyone else. It’s clear, nothing but snow and the little used path to break up the snowfall. 

When he looks back the man hasn’t moved, and something uneasy hisses at the corners of his subconscious. Jim feels danger in the air, and it’s not like the adrenaline rush he gets from riding his bike too fast. It’s a rabbit staring down a fox, neither willing to move and initiate the chase that will follow. Predator and prey both very aware of each other and their respective roles in the story.

Just when the itch to run is starting to overpower Jim’s instinctive freeze, the figure at the door slides back into the driver’s side and closes the door, calm as anything. Jim still flinches at the sound, as it parts the night, but as he watches closely the man pulls out of the parking lot without so much as a sideways glance. 

It’s only when the lights from the car vanish around the buildings of town that Jim’s shoulders loosen from their tight, tense posture. He exhales, unaware he was holding his breath. 

The oddness of the interaction sticks with him. He chews his lip, part of him wanting to turn back and tell Silver, because that was fucking  _ weird  _ and  _ creepy _ and he’s not comfortable letting it go, but the longer he stands in the snow the more he doubts himself. 

Jim sighs and turns on his phone light, trudging up the hill. It’s fine. Nothing happened, he just overreacted. He’s probably paranoid because of what Silver told him, that’s all. He’ll tell him tomorrow, maybe, if it’s still on his mind by then. 

Sarah is just finishing up a pile of dishes, when Jim walks in. The inn is empty of patrons, tonight, but clearly the dinner service had at least a few takers. Jim jumps into helping without her asking, even though he’s ready to go to bed already. 

Throughout the chore, his mind keeps wandering back to the parking lot. His mother notices, and Jim startles when she places a hand on his shoulder.

“Jim, sweetheart, are you okay? You look kind of spooked.” 

“Yeah, mom, I’m fine.” He says, with an unconvincing smile. Sarah sees right through that. She puts her hands on her hips, drying rag in one hand and mouth pursing into an expectant line. 

Jim relents, rolling his eyes slightly.

“Seriously, it’s fine. I ran into a weird guy on the walk back from the docks, that’s all.” He smiles again, trying to show her that yeah, it’s really okay, but she just looks more concerned.

“What do you mean ‘weird’?” 

He groans, putting the plate down in the sink and shaking his hands off, before his mother’s disapproving look reminds him to take a towel and actually dry them.

“I just got a weird vibe from him, okay? Nothing even happened, I just saw some guy and he looked at me and drove off.” 

Sarah still doesn’t look satisfied. 

“Jim, if you have a gut feeling that something is wrong, then it’s usually for a good reason.” She has always been adamant about Jim trusting his instincts, and normally Jim would agree, but this seems more like something powered by his worry for Silver. 

He can’t exactly tell  _ her  _ that though, so he nods and agrees and privately resolves to tell the older man tomorrow, see what he has to say.

Jim goes to bed not long after. He tosses and turns for a while, unrest making it hard to close his eyes. It isn’t until he sends a goodnight text to Silver and gets a response that he can finally get his mind to shut down and stop panicking about nothing. 

* * *

The grogginess of the next morning allows Jim to temporarily forget about last night’s encounter. He wakes up late, and he has to rush to get to school, but the roads are cleared of any overnight snowfall so at least the bike doesn’t slip around during the drive. 

The entire day he feels anxious. Something about sitting in class has Jim antsy, and it’s all he can do to look out the window passively instead of running to his bike. He thinks about texting Silver throughout the day, but he doesn’t have service out here anyway and even he can admit he’s being irrational. 

The end of the day brings with it a surge of relief. The snow has stopped by now, and Jim climbs on his bike as the rest of the student body filters out to their vehicles, shooting out of the parking lot ahead of them. That familiar sense of moving too fast hits, and it steadies his racing heart.

Inside his helmet, Jim takes a couple deep breaths. That strange stress is abating already, and he almost doesn’t notice the car that pulls out of a driveway behind him. 

Nothing about it is unusual. Even when it gains quickly and roars up behind Jim, he isn’t concerned. The amount of people who are willing to pass him even though he’s going twenty over the speed limit is staggering, and he just ignores them. So when the car revs it’s motor on a straightaway and veers quickly around him, Jim doesn’t pay it much mind. 

He only glances to the car when it appears in his vision, but then Jim looks again, turning his head and feeling his gut lurch. The sedan keeping pace with him is wholly unremarkably, except for the fact that he’s sure it’s the one from last night. Sure enough, when he looks to the driver’s seat, the same man is steering the car. There are other passengers, more men that Jim has never seen before, all of them looking directly at him.

Jim eases off the gas on his bike, and alarms blare in his head as the sedan slows with him. The men inside are moving, twisting and turning to keep him in their sights. When he tries to shoot ahead he only gets more of the same, the car keeping up with him easily, like the driver was expecting this. 

Panic sets in, then. Jim looks for an exit. A bike trail, a building, anything where he can get that they can’t or that there might be people around, but this section of road is in the middle of the forest. There’s nothing around for miles, and with the recent snowfall all the trails are hopelessly blocked.

In the corner of Jim’s vision he sees the car match his speed again, and it’s only when the car edges closer that he realizes what the men are doing. He tries to brake, but even his lightning reaction time is too slow to stop the car from body checking into him.

It’s not like when he’d crashed before. Jim doesn’t have a moment of ice cold clarity, and he doesn’t have time to think as it’s happening. He experiences every millisecond as if it’s a minute into itself, but he’s unable to react. The front wheel scrapes along the snow banks on the side of the road, slowing significantly as it does. Balance compromised and unable to correct, Jim is bucked off the seat and sent tumbling down the hillside descending into forest. 

The snow on the ground does nothing to break his fall. He slams into it shoulder first, rolling by virtue of muscle memory, and before he can catch himself the momentum takes him further. Every time he slams into the ground the breath is driven out of him, and it’s only by sheer luck that he doesn’t break his neck in the uncontrolled freefall. Jim slams into a tree trunk as he’s already rolling to a stop, facedown in the snow. His helmet is on, but the ringing ache in his ears means he probably knocked his head on something. If he were even halfway aware, he would have heard the car stopping and the doors slamming as the men got out.

He doesn’t hear any of it. Everything is dull, bruised, agony. His ribs and right shoulder feel like fire, and as he blinks through the visor of his helmet he expects to see blood spattered over the snow, but all he’s left in his wake is a series of pits where he crashed through the unmarred surface.

The men are picking their way down to him, but Jim doesn’t notice until one of them grabs him by the arm and pulls, and pain like he’s never felt bursts over him. Jim is knocked from his stunned stupor as his helmet is dragged off. One of the men looks him over, an ugly snarl on his face as he asks “This him?” to one of his companions, who nods. Distantly, Jim can hear someone screaming, and in the back of his mind he recognises that’s probably him, but everything is hazy and swimming in hurt as they drag him none too gently up the hill.

The men say something else, when they reach the road. They lift Jim between two of them and drop him into the backseat of the car, but he feels none of it. All he can feel is the blinding agony in his shoulder as he’s manhandled to lay down. When he won’t stop yelling one of the men sticks something that feels like a needle in his arm and pushes the plunger, and he can’t even try to fight. He just breathes, gasping as his lungs stutter in spasms of persisting pain, and slowly things get hazier and harder to parse.

Somewhere, cruel laughter filters in, along with the sound of a car engine, but Jim doesn’t react as he finally, mercifully, passes out.


	9. Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything goes wrong.

Amelia hasn’t always been a professional delinquent minder. She spent the better part of her twenties in the Navy, first as a young recruit and later as an officer. It wasn’t until after she met Delbert that she took on the more tame profession. Though Delbert would never have asked it of her, rearing a set of triplets had taken her off the ocean, and then her second pregnancy had come up so soon, it just wasn’t practical to be looking to the sea. By the time their son was old enough to be babysat without either parent having a stroke from sheer separation anxiety, Amelia found she didn’t  _ want  _ to go back to months at a time away from her family. 

It helped that Delbert is so clearly at ease here. They had moved back to the town he spent his teenage years in, and finally meeting Sarah was a delight for Amelia, to know this oldest friend of her husband. 

It wasn’t until he ended up in her office that she officially met Jim. He was fourteen then, still only a child but with a bitterness to match any adult Amelia had seen. She tried everything she knew, discipline and structure contrasted with empathy and kindness, but nothing worked. Jim only got angrier and retreated further into himself with every offense. 

For as clever as he clearly is, it was infuriating to Amelia how Jim chose to use his talents. The dirt bike he put so much effort into is a testament to his ingenuity, but Jim adamantly refused to take the machine shop class offered at his school, citing disagreements with the teacher.

The anger made more sense, when Sarah admitted after a particularly bad incident that Leland had started trying to get in contact again. She’s never heard a word on the topic from Jim himself, but occasionally she would receive the boy even angrier than usual, and she learned the symptoms of the estranged Mr. Hawkins intruding upon his son’s life.

The marked change in Jim the past few months has been staggering. Too good to be true, almost. The offer certainly felt that way, when Silver had suggested it. Amelia was skeptical, but the man seemed forthright enough, and Sarah was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, so Amelia followed her lead. 

The results have been exceptional, she has to admit. But something in her instincts have been catching on an uneasy feeling since she first laid eyes on Silver. She ran the background check immediately. First a quick, almost cursory one, just to be sure there were no felonies that showed up. She was willing to let Jim begin his makeshift apprenticeship while the deeper digs came back. 

That took months. Amelia received the first one after a few weeks, but that gut feeling returned to tell her to try again, so she did. Logically, there was nothing wrong with the papers. They were stamped and signed and looked, by all means, official. The brief stint in juvenile detention was even there, and she almost stopped upon seeing it, because who would fake that? 

But the feeling gnawed at her, so she ran the check again, and again. And when it came back clean both times she called up an old shipmate across the pond to have him pull some strings. 

Arrow was not impressed. He’s ranked above her, now, having stayed in the services when she departed, but he still treats her like his Captain and runs the check for her. She promises him a care package in the near future, and he harrumphs but she knows he’s quietly looking forward to it. 

That check takes the longest to come back, but for all that waiting she only gets more of the same. A list of criminal offences from before the age of eighteen, a brief stint in a detention center, and then not so much as a traffic violation in the twenty some-odd years since. 

It’s maddening, because Amelia still has that twisting in her gut that means something isn’t right. She  _ knows,  _ and when she expresses this to Arrow she hears him hum over the line in his usual noncommittal agreement. They’ve both seen how intuitive her instincts are, and it’s saved their lives a dozen times over by now. 

She goes back to square one, combing through all of the paperwork Silver submitted to her. She keeps a copy of everything in her office, and she brings them home with her to rifle through on the dinner table while the children play in the next room. 

It takes her most of two sleepless nights for something to show itself.

The rental agreement to the house is there, in amongst the paperwork. She had requested it when he gave his address, but there was never a reason to go through it. Picking through, she finds the exchange, and a note by the landlord, that the renter paid cash.

That’s a red flag if she’s ever seen one, but by itself isn’t incriminating, so Amelia sets the sheaf of papers aside and keeps digging. 

The next instance comes to her not in the form of paperwork, but a memory. She recalls the conversation she had with Silver, early the morning after the boat incident. The specifics of his words have faded, all but the calm in his posture irrelevant, but she recalls questioning why he was here. He said he’d never meant to stay long, just that the ship got banged up and needed repairs, and a free extra hand wouldn’t go to waste.

She checks the date on the rental. He’d already put down cash on the house, at this point, and the payment is for a six month stretch. Why would he rent for that long if he wasn’t planning on staying? Moreover, what kind of drifter fisherman has the cash to pay ahead for six months? Certainly not one who can’t afford proper mechanics to help him out.

Amelia calls up Arrow again, at the comparatively reasonable hour of six in the morning. He is still not pleased with her, but he answers and when she calls in another favour she doesn’t have, he doesn’t mention anything. 

She gives him the name, ID, all the details on Silver as well as all the visa and passport paperwork she has. She throws in the boat registration as well, for good measure, and when Arrow tells her he’ll look into it she finally collapses into bed. 

It’s late afternoon before she hears back, and the second clock in the kitchen permanently set to London time shows nearly nine o’clock at night. 

She picks up the phone, waving off Delbert and the children’s concerns. No need to worry them, if it’s nothing. 

Arrow jumps right into reading off his findings, when she answers, and she’s grateful. Everything seems in order, as he goes down the line, and her lips thin, frustrated, until he pauses for breath.

He mentions the paperwork for the boat, and she nods, forgetting that he can’t see her. Arrow continues on as if he has, regardless, confirming the ship’s registration number before informing her that the ship is  _ not  _ registered to Silver. It’s not registered to  _ anyone _ , in fact; as far as the system can tell, the number isn’t in use. For all legal purposes, the ship does not exist.

Dread sinks in her stomach, the feeling that something is very, very wrong intensifying. Arrow doesn’t object as she ends the call, and she rushes into the other room to hug her children and inform them that she has to go, and that she’ll be late tonight. The girls complain, whining at their mother, but Delbert sees the muted fear on her face and quiets them. He hugs her, kisses her on the cheek and pleads with her to be safe, assuring all the while that he’ll put the little ones to bed on time. 

Amelia sighs, endlessly grateful for him. She kisses each of her babies on the forehead, and her husband on the lips before pulling on her coat and dashing out the door. The sun has set by now, light quickly fading, but she pays it no heed. She needs to see Jim, to ensure he’s safe. She needs to talk to Silver, and it cannot wait until morning. 

* * *

Jim has been under general anesthesia once before. When he had his wisdom teeth removed the doctors knocked him out instead of getting him high, and waking up from the surgery left him groggy and exhausted.

He feels a lot like that, waking up, except this time his mother isn’t sitting next to him and stroking his hair back. 

The first thing Jim notices is that he’s propped up, slumped in a chair. He tries to open his eyes, but nothing changes in his vision, and it’s unclear if he’s blind or just in the dark. That should probably frighten him, but he’s utterly exhausted and feels kind of dizzy, so the blindness can wait. He can feel the floor under his feet, an uneven surface that scrapes against his shoes like sloppily done concrete. 

The dizziness surges, then, bringing with it a wave of nausea and Jim groans to try and keep from vomiting. He feels awful suddenly, as the bitter flavour rises up his throat, but he keeps the bile down. Jim groans again, head spinning, and he lists forward with every intent to curl up on the floor. He wants to press his clammy forehead against the cold stone, memories of being sick with the flu telling him that unmovable ground is good, even if he’s freezing cold right now. 

He doesn’t get that far. Jim tries to lean down, to give himself a controlled fall, but his arms tug tight and right in that instant a bolt of white hot pain lances through him. Jim yelps like a dog, startled by the pain and still too out of it to really think through the implications. He leans back into the chair and the pain lessens, though it’s still throbbing slowly through his body. 

Jim whimpers, breathing hard from the pain and even more confused now. His mind is still sluggish, unwilling to work with him despite the spike of fear now telling him that whatever is going on, it can’t be good. 

After a couple heaving gasps, Jim manages to focus enough to take stock of himself.

From his toes to the top of his head he’s cold. When he flexes his feet his boots feel damp, and his pants up to his knees are in a similar situation, like he’d been covered in snow. His shirt feels dryer, though the sleeves of his jacket are just slightly wet. 

An icy breeze filters in from somewhere, and Jim shivers violently. The involuntary movement of his muscles forces his aches and pains into stark relief, and Jim works through the slowly clearing fog of his mind to parse that out next. 

Everything hurts, at first, a full body ache like when he’d fallen off his bike so many times before. Through the bruised feeling, Jim takes his time moving each limb, trying to figure out what hurts the worst. He hisses when it’s his right arm’s turn, pain blossoming at both the shoulder and his wrist, so sharp that it descends into numbness when he stops flexing. Everything else is sore, but aside from something in his ribs it all just feels like a bruise. 

That does bring up the prospect of his next problem, when he tries to struggle again. His wrists are bound - handcuffed, in fact, around the back of the chair. The cuff around his right hand feels too tight, his wrist probably swollen since it was secured. He wonders if it’s broken, but even that thought doesn’t bring more than a muted jolt of panic. Everything is still distant and unmoored to Jim. He hangs his head, too weak to even hold himself up. Every tiny movement takes way too much effort, and Jim has no choice but to breathe through the agony and mounting panic. 

Slowly, his breaths pick up. The dark, the hurt, it all combines with the complete terror and Jim feels tears sliding down his face but he still can’t see, and that just makes him tremble more violently. 

His first attempt to thrash against his bonds makes Jim shout, in pain and then anger. He’s still crying, hyperventilating as it really sinks in that he has no idea where he is, or who has him.

“Hey!” He screams, voice hoarse and cracking on just the one syllable. The echoing silence that follows his shout just makes the anger and fear even more powerful, and immediately Jim struggles again.

“Somebody help!” He tries, shouting at the top of his lungs. When the words taper off and slur together he keeps going, just yelling as long and loud as he can in pain and anger both.

It’s a sound from the ceiling above him that finally stops the tirade of impotent rage. Jim freezes, terror sinking into his heart and closing around his throat. Footsteps, clicking shoes that make the wooden floors groan as they track across the room over Jim’s head.

There’s more than one person, evidenced by the flurry of heavy boots that follow the first steps like a pack of obedient guard dogs. Jim suddenly regrets drawing any attention to himself. 

A door that Jim didn’t even realize was there opens, and the light spilling in lets him know that he isn’t actually blind, thankfully. He still can’t keep his eyes open, shying away towards the refuge of the darkness, until even that is taken from him. 

The light in the room would be painfully bright even if Jim’s eyes weren’t adjusted to the pitch black. The unshaded light bulb is fluorescent, and it washes everything in either unyielding white or stark shadows. Jim tries to peek at the men as they walk in, but his eyes sting and he has to squint from under his fringe to get even a vague idea of where they are.

There are more than four, but that’s about as accurate a count as he can get before the man who has to be the ringleader steps in and comes to stand just a few feet in front of Jim. When he finally squints through the blinding light, he finds a man who could be accurately described as spidery. He’s tall, Jim guesses around Silver’s height but rail thin and hunched at the shoulders slightly. His smirk, when he leans down to meet Jim’s gaze, isn’t comforting like Silver’s - it’s menacing. This man has only bad intentions for him.

“So, our guest is awake, is he?” The man sneers, in a high, nasal voice that comes out like a hiss. 

Jim’s throat thickens, instincts telling him to run and hide. He tugs at his bonds again, rattling the short chain holding him in place and only making his right arm twinge again. There’s no give in the cuffs, and the men around him scoff in amusement as he squirms. 

“Who the hell are you?” He growls, to make up for the clearly frightened way he’s tucked in on himself. His voice, when he speaks, is clear and angry instead of scared, at least.

“Oh, didn’t he tell you? We’re old friends with that mentor of yours.” The man grins, and the ripple of laughter that follows the words clearly indicates the malice even if his tone hadn’t. 

He pulls out a knife, then, from his coat pocket. It’s not a long or particularly intimidating thing, Jim has seen wannabe greasers with bigger blades, this guy looks like he knows how to use it, and that makes it a hundred times more terrifying. These men know Silver, and by the man’s own admission the organisation was far from benevolent.

Jim isn’t ashamed to admit he’s scared, and it clearly shows on his face by the reaction of the knife wielding man. A smirk, satisfied, and the blade vanishes into his coat. 

“So you  _ have  _ heard of us. I must say, I’m surprised. I didn’t peg him for the type to tell his cabin boy about his old exploits.” 

The way he leers as he says  _ ‘cabin boy’ _ makes Jim feel nauseous all over again, but he does his best to puff his chest and look like he’s not scared to death. 

“What do you want?” 

Another hum of laughter bounces around the room, and it makes Jim shudder in all the worst ways. There are men behind him, beside and just out of his field of view, and he wants to look around to get a good headcount but he’s too petrified to turn away from the man in charge.

“From you? Nothing much,  _ cabin boy _ .” 

He flicks the blade out again, and Jim reels but he’s caught and has the cold press of a razor’s edge digging under his jaw. He flinches, expecting blood and agony, but nothing happens. The man holds him still, fist tangled harshly in his hair and breath falling in a tepid wave over Jim’s neck as he speaks. 

“You’re going to tell us where the money is, and help us get it.” 

Relief wars with dread, in Jim. He doesn’t know where the money is, so there’s no way for him to give it up. But who's to say that they’ll believe him? They might torture him to make sure he’s really telling the truth, or just for the hell of it. Jim wouldn’t put it past them, and the glee in the man’s eyes as he’s pressing the knife too close doesn’t give him much hope.

Jim struggles, trying to jerk his head away with his lungs heaving, but he’s yanked back into place. The knife cuts him, just slightly, blood dripping down his neck and hot in contrast to the cold of the basement. 

“The money, cabin boy.” The man hisses, drawing a shallow wound down Jim’s neck, towards the center of his throat.

“I. Don’t. Know.” Jim grits.

The man hisses between his teeth, like a snake, and presses the knife in harder. Goading, intimidating, and Jim’s self preservation takes the wheel and forces him to cave for once. 

“I don’t know!” He shouts it this time, anger and terror battling for dominance. “I didn’t even know he had it until last week! Why would he tell me where it was?!” 

The blade stops. More blood is running down his neck, but the sudden spread of hot, copperly liquid over Jim's tongue has a different source. He feels around his mouth until he finds a split in his lip, either new or newly re-opened with all his struggling.

To Jim’s immense relief, the knife retreats. His head is released and he lists back to center, breath still coming in juddering gasps, leaving him lightheaded from the terror.

“Onto plan B, I suppose.” 

The knife is still out, and Jim’s eyes dart down to it fearfully. That gets him another derisive laugh.

“Oh, don’t worry. You’re not useless to us just yet.” 

He crouches to one knee, reaching out to grasp Jim by the chin in a way that might almost be tender, from anyone else.

“No, you’ll be very useful, I think, in getting our  _ mutual friend _ to cooperate. Silver doesn’t play nice with just anyone. He must really  _ like  _ you.” The purr in his tone sends chills down Jim’s spine. One finger reaches up, stroking Jim’s cheek faux kindly.

When Jim struggles the man reacts violently. He snarls, digging his fingers in hard and dragging the boy’s face to look at him, a sadistic grin on his face as he speaks.

“Don’t think that means you’re untouchable, though. Just because we don’t want to do any  _ permanent _ damage doesn’t mean we can’t make it hurt.” 

The unfettered pleasure in his voice chills Jim’s blood. He shudders, leaning away from where the man is looming over him, teeth still bared dangerously.

“I get it, okay?” He tries to sound brave, but it comes out weak and scared. 

The grip on his chin releases, and Jim flinches hard at a patronising pat to his cheek. 

“Smart boy.” 

The men ringing the room chuckle again, and Jim is offended but he’s not quite reckless enough to say anything. The ringleader stands up straight, hand going to his pocket again and searching around this time. As he digs through his pockets Jim tenses, worried that the guy is reaching for something else to hurt him. 

When he finally pulls out the phone, Jim is so dizzy with relief that it takes him a minute to register that it’s  _ his  _ device, in this man’s hand. It isn’t until he powers it on and it further illuminates his face that Jim clocks what he’s holding, and then the dread returns again.

The man ignores Jim, for a moment. He swipes his thumb over the screen, scrolling one way and then the other, obviously looking for something. 

“Hold his head up.” He says, almost cheery, as he clicks his tongue and holds the phone up in Jim’s direction.

Three sets of hands descend on Jim, tangling in his hair and on his shoulders and neck. He cries out and struggles but is held fast, his face angled into the light. As he’s manhandled into position the camera light on the back of his phone turns on, blinding Jim all over again. He closes his eyes as much as he dares, squinting at the man over the camera to find him grinning even wider. 

“Don’t bother smiling. We want it to look convincing, don’t we?” He coos. 

The click of the camera going off makes Jim want to be sick. The phone is lowered and he’s released, allowed to drop his head again. He’s breathing hard, lungs aching with the cold, but Jim still shies away from the man when he kneels beside the chair, warmth rolling off his body notwithstanding.

He’s on Jim’s level, and doesn’t even appear phased as his captive leans away from him. He’s angled the screen towards the tied up boy, like he wants Jim to watch what he’s doing. Despite knowing that the man is probably getting off on his terror, Jim can’t look away.

He watches the man navigate to the contacts, but instead of going for Jim’s mother like he fears, he passes over her without pausing and taps on where Silver’s number is saved. The text history pops up, and the man composes a new one. He adds the photo, sending it without any text, and Jim freezes at the sight. His face, blood visible on his teeth and cheek bruised, head pulled back unwillingly by many cruel hands and what is clearly distress in his snarl. The cut on his neck is visible, a bloody line from the corner of his jaw almost to his Adam's apple. The picture makes him look even worse than he feels. Aside from the rough fingers grabbing him, there isn’t anything behind or around him that could hint at his location, and Jim realizes with sinking horror that he himself has no idea. It’s a basement, obviously, but that could be anywhere. 

The message stays on the screen for all of ten seconds before an incoming call fills the room with the muted buzzing. 

The man picks up on the second ring, smirking at Jim and ruffling his hair as if in reward. He yanks his head away, some desperate attempt to do anything to deny the man his power, but all it does is bring another sharp protest from his aching shoulder and a throb from behind his eyes.

“I thought you might find that compelling enough to answer.” The man hisses into the phone, in lieu of a hello. 

He stands up, but he’s still right next to where Jim is sitting, so the boy hears with perfect clarity when Silver growls out a question. 

“What have ye done to him, Scroop?” 

The man laughs, and even that sounds like a hiss.

“Nothing drastic _ yet. _ The boy is perfectly fine, aside from a few bumps and bruises.” Laughter, from the others in the room, and Jim shudders. “I can’t make any promises as to his health if you don’t cooperate, though.” 

“An’ who's to say ye won’t just kill him anyway?” Silver snarls, anger still apparent.

“Kill him? Oh no, he’s much more useful to us alive.” The man, Scroop, smiles with a glance down at Jim. “Insurance, you understand. To make sure you don’t take off again.” 

“Ye really think he’s worth that much?” Silver asks, after a pause. 

It’s just a bluff, and Jim  _ knows  _ it’s just a bluff, but he still tenses up and stares at the screen in terror. He tries to hide the fear on his face, but all it takes is a glance from the man at his side to tell he fails.

A sibilant laugh breaks the quiet, harsh and hard, and Jim flinches away from Scroop. 

“Oh, don’t play coy, old friend. I did my research. It seems the two of you spend an awful lot of time together on Flint’s old runner. A whole weekend, even! How sweet.” 

Jim grinds his teeth, berating himself. Of course they were watching them. He knew something was up, that night. He should have gone back and told Silver.

“Besides, you know better than to stay put for too long. You had to have known we would be along sooner or later, and still you decided to stick around.” He looks at Jim, like he’s already guessed why. “Though I must say, I never pictured you for the  _ family  _ type.”

He spits the word like he doesn’t believe it, a mocking sneer on his face. There’s amusement, under that. Humor, like it’s an in-joke between them all. 

Silver is quiet. Jim can feel his own hands shaking, and he grips the back of the chair to try and stop himself from looking visibly frightened. He’s way out of his depth, and it’s not a nice feeling anymore.

“What do you want, Scroop?” Silver finally asks, clearly reining in his anger.

“The money. Every bit of it.” Scroop hisses. “You bring us what you owe, and the boy is left unharmed.” 

“I don’t  _ have _ all of it anymore.” Silver barks, and Jim can hear the catch in his throat through the phone. Fear, maybe? 

“Then I suppose we’ll just have to take our money’s worth from the boy.” Scoop shrugs, turning to Jim with a sadistic grin. “You wouldn’t mind helping your friend repay his debts, would you?” He grabs Jim’s chin in startlingly strong fingers and jostles his head mockingly. 

Jim growls and struggles, tearing his head away at the same time as Silver speaks again.

“Scroop, don’t ye fucking  _ dare _ touch him.” He hears, sharp and angry from the other side of the phone. 

And Scroop pauses, a slow grin spreading over his face.

“Well, well. Someone’s protective. Afraid we’ll break your little toy?” 

If he hadn’t already guessed the nature of their relationship, that seems to confirm it. One of the men behind Jim chuckles, and he pulls into himself as much as possible with the sudden discomfort. He wants to talk to Silver, to have the man assure him that he’ll get him out of this, but even if it would be nice to hear, Jim knows it would all be a lie.

“The lad’s innocent in all of this. Leave him out of it.” Silver says, not bothering to address the question. 

“Not that innocent, I’ll wager.” Scroop mutters, with a leer at Jim. Again that urge to whimper for Silver rises, the desire to be held and comforted is overwhelming.

As if sensing the changing direction, Silver speaks up again.

“He doesn’t know a damn thing!” He snarls, urgent, trying to keep their attention on him. “Fucks sake, do what ye want to me, but let the boy go.” 

“Oh no, he’s not going anywhere until we have our money back.” Scroop answers. “I’ve seen how you do under torture. Him though…” 

The hand not gripping the phone has migrated to Jim’s leg now, much to his horror, and the fingers move in kneading, petting motions that make him shudder in disgust. Jim finally can’t repress a sharp, hissing inhale, one that draws all attention to him, Silver included.

“No! I’ll get you the damn money, just don’t  _ touch  _ him!” He yells, and that finally makes the hand stop where it was slowly driving Jim’s breathing to hyperventilation.

“And what do you propose for the remainder, hm?” Scroop asks.

A dense, heavy silence fills the room. Jim can feel tears blurring in his eyes, terror and anger and pain rattling in his chest like spikes pressing into his lungs. Everywhere hurts and he just wants to feel safe again, to remember a fraction of what he felt that afternoon in the kitchen of Silver’s house. 

“A trade.” Silver says, eventually, and the utter resignation in his voice is almost worse than the next words he says. “The boy comes to no further harm, and I’ll take his place.” 

“No!” Jim shouts, and Scroop looks at him in surprise. Before anyone can react, Jim struggles violently, wrenching his arm and making his head swim but he doesn’t care, tears already falling down his face.

“Silver, no!” He screams, desperate and wild and utterly feral with fear. “They’re gonna fucking kill you!”

He keeps screaming, and Scroop has to raise his voice for his order of “Shut him up!” to be heard over the hoarse caterwauling. Jim’s continued protests are promptly cut off by the men behind him wrangling his head back and stuffing a wadded up rag into his mouth. It muffles the howling, but Jim keeps fighting and bucking until a chokehold around his neck threatens to strangle him into unconsciousness. 

“How noble.” Scroop says into the phone, at first mocking and then suspicious. “This is very unlike you, though. Had a change of heart?” 

Silver growls, and Scroop grins.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather leave him to pay your debts? He is very pretty, we’d find  _ plenty  _ of use for him.” 

“The boy goes home without any further harm, and I’ll hand over myself and the cash. That’s the deal.” 

Silver sounds properly menacing for the first time Jim has heard him since the night they met, and even the men in the room seem to stiffen slightly. Only Scroop remains undaunted, sighing like he’s miffed.

“Very well. The boy stays untouched, and you do exactly as we say.” 

“Deal.” Silver agrees, and Jim struggles again. Some of the sound must make it through the receiver, because Silver speaks up again.

“Let me talk to the lad.” He says, and it sounds like a demand but Jim can hear the slightest catch in his voice. It’s unclear whether he wants to comfort Jim or himself, but it doesn’t matter. Just hearing his  _ voice  _ would be enough, and Jim suspects Silver would feel the same.

Scroop laughs, hard and harsh. 

“And let the hostage plan his escape? No, I don’t think so.” He says, his grin widening when Silver audibly snarls over the line. 

“I’ll text you the details. Don’t do anything reckless, wouldn’t want your cabin boy to come to harm.” 

And with that Scroop hangs up, standing and turning off Jim’s phone before tucking it back into his breast pocket.

Jim is seething. Rage and terror makes him want to grit his teeth, but the cloth in his mouth prevents it. The taste of grease and oil is awful but the bile rising up his throat is worse. He’s powerless. Silver is going to get tortured and killed to save his sorry ass, and he can’t do a thing about it. 

The arm locked around his neck vanishes, and Jim’s rage only intensifies as Scroop grabs him again, fingers digging into the boy’s cheekbones to hold him.

“It is such a shame. I’m sure we would’ve had so much fun together.” 

It’s a taunt, one meant to make sure Jim knows that he’s not out of the woods yet. They don’t have to hurt him to make him regret ever getting involved, but Jim is shaking with repressed hate and he’s too enraged to make smart decisions anymore.

He kicks out as hard as he can, aiming for Scroop’s knee and just hoping to hit anywhere that hurts. It’s impossible to tell if he gets a good hit or not. As soon as he lands the blow there are fingers digging into his injured shoulder. Jim screams in muffled agony and writhes, no longer fighting but trying just to get away from the hurt. The instigator keeps going for a few more seconds, working his digits into the swollen, ruined area with no mercy even as Jim is gagging back bile at the pain. 

Finally, everything stops. The hand recedes and Jim slumps forward choking on nothing, shuddering and hiccoughing weakly. His ankles are pulled back and tied to the legs of the chair, coarse rope winding from shin to mid calf, but he can’t even feel it let alone resist. By the time he’s picking up his head again he’s trapped even more effectively than before and now dizzy on top of it. 

Scroop is standing in front of him, sneering down at the heaving, gasping boy. Apparently content with the state of him, he stands up and walks away, hissing for the rest of the men to follow. Jim watches them all file out of the room, taking the light with them as they close the door and leave him again in total darkness. 

He’s okay with that, for a change. The darkness is calming. It hides the way his chest is shaking with frightened cries. He manages to spit out the cloth in his mouth, breathing hard through the panic and the tears. 

Everything hurts again, even worse than before. Jim’s head is throbbing and his shoulder aches like hell, and he’s even colder now. He wonders if he’s in danger of hypothermia, at this stage. He can’t feel his fingers anymore, which can’t be good, but at least his tears are hot where they’re sliding down his cheeks.

Jim wonders what time it is, if his mom has noticed he’s missing yet. For all he knows it’s not even nightfall, and he’s usually out well past that these days. 

He almost breaks down into sobs at the thought of his mother. He doesn’t know if he’d rather Silver told her or if she was left in the dark, oblivious to the danger her son is in. 

He tries to stop crying, because it’s not going to help him and he doesn’t want to look any more pathetic than he already is, but it’s pointless. He’s in the pitch fucking black, alone and probably in the middle of nowhere, and he’s being held hostage by men who want to violate and kill him. 

It occurs to Jim, in a sudden unhelpful flash, that they could very well have no intention of actually letting him go. He’s seen their faces now, at least Scroop’s, and they have no way of preventing him from going to the police once he’s free.

It feels selfish, to be terrified for himself when Silver is the one really at risk here. All the same, even biting his tongue isn’t enough to stop Jim from crying and shivering like a child after a nightmare.

Jim has no way of telling time, in the dark of the basement. It could be twenty minutes or three hours before the men come down to retrieve him again, he has no idea. He’s managed to stop crying, finally exhausted and too numb to panic anymore. Adrenaline can only fuel him for so long.

When the men do come down they’re absent their leader. Without Scroop it’s perfunctory, almost casual how they handle Jim. The light comes on, blinding him again, and before he can gather himself they’re stuffing the grease stained rag back into his mouth and tying another around his lips to keep it there. The ropes around his legs are undone, and one man each holds Jim’s arms as he’s uncuffed just long enough to free him from the chair and pull his arms around to the front of him. 

Jim screams through the gag, as his right arm is yanked forward. The pain had dulled to a throb, but as the stiff limb is forced into action again it sharpens and returns. It’s made even worse by the harsh grip around his bicep, keeping him still. Every twitch of the man’s rough hands sends a shock through Jim, and his shoulder is burning. 

His right wrist doesn’t look any better than it feels. The skin is black and purple with bruising and swollen, with the metal of the cuff cutting hard into his flesh. It doesn’t seem broken, thankfully, he can still move his fingers and there are no obvious bones jutting out, but it hurts like a bitch and Jim feels safe guessing that it’s sprained. 

Jim’s legs are numb, both from the cold and the immobilisation, but the men don’t give him a second to get feeling back before they’re half lifting half shoving him out of the room and up the stairs. The pins and needles war with the obvious trauma from the crash, making it difficult for Jim to take stock of the house he’s in. 

He still tries though, cataloging everything from the stained and peeling floral wallpaper to the door with a broken window. When he strains over the shoulder of the man on his right, he sees a snowy hillside out the window, with bare trees poorly illuminated in the late evening darkness and nothing that could tell him where he’s at. Even the car pulled alongside the house is just the same shitty sedan they picked Jim up in, with a new scattering of scratches along the passenger side doors, where they pushed his bike off the road. 

Jim wonders if anybody’s found his bike yet, if the police are looking for him. Surely if he’s been reported missing Amelia would be searching for him, right? She’d be the first to know right after his mother, maybe even before.

He’s in what used to be a living room, when the men stop. It’s furnished richly, but the place is in poor repair. The house is old, probably one of the abandoned places up in the hills. It looks like an old lady might have lived here, if the garish sofa and moldy carpet is anything to go by, but the place is cold and dead and has been unloved for years. The only light is from a flickering, shadeless lamp on the table that casts everything in a yellowish haze. It would almost be cozy, if not for the current circumstances.

Scroop is sitting on the couch, tapping away at Jim’s phone. He looks up as the two men enter with Jim between them, and gestures to a chair beside the couch.

Jim doesn’t sit so much as he’s forced down into it, the men standing guard at either side of him. Sending both of them to bring him up was probably overkill, given that the men resemble a pair of Rottweilers in terms of build and general attitude. They’re big enough that Jim wouldn’t pose much of a threat to one of them on a good day, let alone now. 

He doesn’t sit back, choosing to hunch forward as much as his aches and bruises will allow. Getting too comfortable around these people seems dangerous, and he still doesn’t know why he was taken out of the basement. 

“Good news, cabin boy. Silver has the money. It looks like you’ll get to go free after all.” 

He smirks at Jim, cold and empty. It’s clear he’s not totally pleased with this, and another shudder runs through the boy at the thought. 

Jim glares, keeping his anger in check because he doesn’t want another beating, but nobody said he has to look  _ happy  _ about this. 

He should’ve expected the blindfold, really, but it still catches him off guard. Jim struggles as one of the men behind him ties something around his eyes. His protests are muffled through the gag, but not silent, even if they do go wholly ignored. 

Even with their captive newly blind, the men do not take any extra care moving Jim. He’s hauled up again, everyone speaking seemingly at once, and a commotion of bodies disorients Jim. A sharp tug on his injured shoulder makes him yelp, but nobody pays him any mind as he’s dragged along clumsily. 

The car is musty smelling, and even colder than the basement had been. Jim shivers as soon as he’s shoved inside, and before he even has a chance to pick himself up off the back seat he’s yanked up by the arm and his cuffs secured to the roof handle. The angle his shoulder is tugged into is painful, forcing Jim to grunt and grit his teeth to keep from screaming outright. 

The car pulls away soon after, with Scroop talking from somewhere in the front and one of Jim’s handlers in the back with him. There are more men, and Jim can see the headlights of another car illuminating the backseat through his blindfold, apparently they’re just the head of the small caravan.

The ride is jerky, and far from comfortable. It would have been bad enough with the injury, but Jim has no way to predict when the car is turning, and without his sight he’s tossed around roughly. Nausea comes on quickly, disorientation and the continued strain on his shoulder combining and making Jim feel even weaker than before.

He’s thankful, when they eventually roll to a stop. The inside of the car has warmed up now, but Jim stays leaning against the cold glass of the window both to stave off the sick feeling and to avoid the man sitting across from him. 

The blindfold is removed, and when Jim looks around he can’t see any distinguishing markings about the small parking lot they’re now in. The back of a dilapidated apartment is visible, and the entire lot is gravel instead of pavement. This is the old part of town, the point driven further home by the yellowed, flickering streetlight marking the one path in or out. The sound of cars is distant, and Jim hadn’t heard them pass any during the drive, so it has to be late at night by now. 

He notices too late that the man beside him is reaching for him. By the time he gets his bearings enough to struggle he’s already been caught by the collar and neck. He’s dragged towards Scroop, who is aiming the phone at him again with a sneer. 

The gag is pulled off at Scroop's prompting and the camera clicks, and as soon as Jim is released he sags against the door again. He’s exhausted, mentally and physically, and knowing that this isn’t over yet does nothing to help him stay alert. He notices that the child lock on his door is engaged, so even if Jim were able to free himself and reach the handle he’d still be trapped. The gag being removed does nothing for his mood either, since there's nobody around at this hour to hear him anyway.

As he’s staring listlessly outside, Jim notices Scroop give him a calculating look from out of the corner of his eyes. It’s quick, not leering, just assessing, and by the time Jim has rallied himself to look he’s turned away again. Still the feeling of discomfort persists.

Now that Jim is no longer blindfolded the nausea is fading, though his headache has remained a thrumming constant in his temples. He leans his forehead against the window again, tucking his legs up onto the cracked leather of the car seat and trying to conserve warmth. He can see the second car just behind them, when he twists around, the men in it antsy but not moving. He doesn’t recognise any of them except for the driver, the man who’d been following Jim and who was driving when the sedan pushed him off the road.

They don’t have to wait long. The sound of a car approaching makes everyone perk up, though Jim is significantly slower to react than the rest of the passengers. The sound comes first, a steady rumble of tires over asphalt growing steadily closer with slow certainty. 

It shouldn’t be possible to feel dread and hope at once, but all the same Jim feels both dancing around in his lungs as Silver’s vehicle pulls into the dimly lit parking lot. He’s alone as he steps out, though Jim isn’t sure what else he could have expected. 

Immediately Scroop signals to the other car, and three men pile out. Silver freezes at the sight of them, and even from a distance Jim can see his gaze flickering around. Searching for Jim, maybe? 

Jim has no doubt that Silver notices the guns before he does. It takes one of the men bringing the sights up for the boy to catch on, and by then Silver has stiffened and halted in place, still halfway across the lot from them. 

It looks, for a heart wrenching second, that they’re planning to just shoot him on sight. Jim struggles again, jerking aimlessly in his restraints and slamming himself into the door in the process. He gets Silver’s attention, the man turning to face him, but nobody moves except for Jim and Scroop as he gets out of the car. 

“Get the boy.” He says, to the driver and the man in the back. Scroop’s movements then cease to matter to Jim as his door is opened and he’s pulled out roughly. His legs don’t want to work right, and when he stumbles he’s supported just enough that he keeps moving while his boots drag though the gravel. 

“I thought ye said he’d be unharmed.” Silver accuses. He sounds like it’s taking everything in him not to strangle Scroop, regardless of the implied threat of the guns.

Jim manages to stand up when they stop moving, though his head is swimming again. He can see Silver just across from him, no more than ten feet of distance between them. The men have parted, guns at ease but still clearly ready for action.

“He wasn’t harmed between the call and now, but I can’t be held accountable for how we got him here.” Scroop hisses from behind him, and Jim tenses as a hand drops onto each of his shoulders. 

Silver, when Jim looks up at him, looks furious. He grits his teeth but moves on, eyeing the weaponry on standby as he speaks. 

“Gonna shoot me in the back ‘f I grab the money?” Silver nods at the truck. Scroop sneers, a low hiss right in Jim’s ear.

“Don’t try anything clever.” He warns. 

Silver is clearly reluctant to turn his back on the men, and Jim’s pulse picks up when he does have to turn and grab the money, but nothing happens. He pulls out a black duffle bag, showing it to Scroop and waiting for a nod before he tosses it. The bag lands in a heap in the middle of their congregation, before one of the two unarmed grunts pulls it aside and slings it over his back. 

With the money no longer in play it’s now come down to just the hand over. Jim is finally staring down freedom, but the slow, constant kneading of Scroop’s hands into his shoulders reminds him that he’s still not safe. He shivers, at both the cold and the unwanted touch, and the hands creep an inch closer to sliding around his neck. 

“You’ve got the money, let the lad go.” Silver says, voice sounding strained. Jim wonders if he noticed the way he’s been flinching at every overly intimate touch, then thinks better of it. Of course he has, Silver notices  _ everything _ . He’s seeing the way Jim is barely holding back a whimper and he’s trying to get him out of this as soon as possible.

Instead of pushing Jim towards Silver, Scroop’s grip tightens. One hand slides around Jim’s throat, the long fingers holding tight while the second drops to his upper arm.

“ _ Hmm _ , I’m not so sure anymore. I might just  _ keep  _ him.” Scroop says, leaning over Jim’s shoulder and pressing against his back. Jim struggles, trying to buck out of his grip, but the hand around his neck squeezes slightly in warning until he stops.

“He is  _ awfully _ cute. I can see why you bothered to keep him around.” 

Jim cuts his eyes to Silver, panic lancing through his system. He knows the man can’t do anything right now. Not with all the guns trained between them, but he can’t look at the men around him. He needs comfort, even if it’s false.

There’s panic reflected in the older man’s gaze as well. He looks terrified and more angry than Jim has ever seen him. A harsh breath out of his nose fogs the air as he visibly restrains himself. 

“The deal was the boy gets to go free.” Silver growls, taking a step forwards until the men raise their weapons again and halt his advance.

“The  _ deal  _ was that we get our money’s worth in your suffering.” Scroop sneers. He glances at Jim for a second before turning back to Silver, a cold smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. 

“I’ve never seen you care about anything like this.” He squeezes Jim’s cheeks for emphasis, and Jim tries to buck out of his grip again, more desperately. He gets fingers pressing into his injured shoulder in payback, and stops with a hitched keen of pain.

Silver is visibly angered by the action, and that only seems to encourage Scroop more. He digs his fingers in deeper, drawing more pained noises from between gritted teeth, and it’s only after a long minute of agony that he stops. 

Jim’s panting is the loudest thing in the parking lot. He’s shaking, his whole frame trembling with how badly it hurts, and he feels himself being forced to lean on Scroop to stay upright. His vision is swimming but his hearing is fading from the pounding of his own pulse, so he hears Scroop’s pointed address to Silver perfectly.

“What would you do to see him safe, _hm_?” 

Jim is already shaking his head as he looks up at Silver. He knows what Silver would do, and he begs with his eyes for the older man not to say it. Don’t give them a handhold, please.

Scoop hisses out a laugh, gleeful as Jim is close to tears. He’s enjoying this, pulling fear out of both of them. Jim flinches again as he leans down close and stage whispers, without waiting for an answer to his last question.

“Do you know how he earned his name, boy?” 

Jim glares at him, only shaking his head when the man’s sneer curls dangerously at a lack of response. His smile returns, deadlier and sharper, and Jim doesn’t want to look at him but he can’t look away from what his instincts tell him is a predator.

“Silver tongued devil could talk his way out of anything, or into anyone’s pants.” He coos the last part on a laugh, stroking Jim’s cheek deceptively gently. Jim squeezes his eyes closed and jerks weakly, fighting the grip and the curl of disgust in his stomach as the men around him snicker. 

“No talking your way out of this though, is there?” Scroop asks, not raising his voice even as he’s addressing the other man. 

The parking lot goes quiet, after that. Enough that every one of them hears the soft, distant wail of sirens in the distance. Maybe it’s just because he’s hoping for a rescue, but it’s Jim who notices first that they’re slowly growing louder, and closer.

He cranes his neck at the mouth of the alley, a hopeful gasp caught in his throat, and it doesn’t take Scroop long to follow his attention. Everyone else registers the growing wail at the same time, and Scroop turns on Silver.

“You told someone?” He hisses, unchecked rage replacing his cunning for half a second.

“I didn’t say a damn thing.” Silver says back, looking uneasily at the sound. He looks just as scared as the men holding Jim hostage, and the boy can guess why. Just because the authorities are on the trail doesn’t mean he’s safe. There’s a thousand ways this can still go wrong, and Scroop being backed into a corner only makes him more dangerous.

“Who else would have known to look for him?” Scroop asks rhetorically, still enraged.

_ “Amelia.” _ Jim thinks, instantly. If she were out looking for him there’s a chance she would have found his bike, and from there it's not a stretch to imagine she’d have brought out all the stops to find him. She knows damn well he’d never leave that thing on the side of the road. 

Despite the pain still burning through him, Jim struggles again. Scroop is prepared for this, and takes his writhing in stride, but Jim isn’t going to give up so easily this time. He’s seen that there’s a way out, and even exhausted he’s not ready to lie down and take it. 

When the hand around his throat stops being effective Scroop changes tack. He reaches to dig his fingers into Jim’s shoulder again, and in the process the boy manages to wrestle himself around. He doesn’t get far, pulled up short as Scroop grabs his bound hands and drags him back, now face to face and snarling at Jim like he’s an animal that refuses to cooperate. 

The pain renews, and Jim grits his teeth past it, still ready to fight until his injured wrist is held and twisted hard.

He gasps and yelps, body wanting to collapse at the pain. It stops quickly, Jim presumes because Scroop is preoccupied and he doesn’t want to hold the boy up if he collapses. The early reprieve allows him to get his breath back, and with his renewed energy Jim bides his time. 

Scroop levels one final sneer at Jim before he looks again over his shoulder, at the sirens that now appear to be circling closer and farther away by turns. They’re probably searching, or otherwise waiting for something. One way or another, time is running out. Either Scroop is going to take Jim and the money with him or he’s going to shoot them both, and neither is something Jim is willing to just wait around on. 

As soon as the other man’s attention is away from him Jim acts. He summons all his strength and brings his knee up hard, slamming it between Scroop’s legs in a blow that’s definitely less than honorable, but it gets the job done.

There are shouts from behind Jim, the sound of guns cocking and then yelps and blows, but he doesn’t have the brainpower to spare for that right now. Scroop was supporting a significant amount of the injured boy’s weight, more than Jim had accounted for. When he collapses into a heap he almost takes Jim with him. It’s only thanks to his balance being compromised by the kick that Jim stumbles backwards, and the two warring forces pulling him down keep him somewhat on his feet. 

He turns, ready to make a run for Silver past bullets if he has to. Scroop is retching on the ground behind him, as Jim finds a significantly more level battlefield than the one he had last seen. 

One of the gunmen appears to have been disarmed, the gun now in Silver’s possession and pointed at the cluster of two also aiming right back at him. The unarmed man is on the ground, struggling to get back up, and Jim meets Silver’s eyes for a second. 

The hand not holding a gun extends towards him, like a lifeline, and Jim scrambles for it. It doesn’t seem like anyone else had noticed his relative freedom until that moment, because some of them shout in surprise.

Jim had noticed that his balance was off, before, but he figured it had more to do with being tossed around like a ragdoll than anything else. Now though, on his own two feet, it becomes clear that his balance has been pretty substantially screwed up, because it’s all he can do to keep upright. His world is tilting and unstable, and he trips over nothing but manages to stay on his feet with the sound of footfalls behind him.

The man on the ground tries to grab for his legs, as he passes, but Jim dodges him mostly by chance and makes his still cuffed hands grip Silver with rigor mortis strength when they finally come into contact. The other man holds him back just as tight, and it hurts but the left hand is so warm and familiar and  _ gentle  _ even as Silver’s grabbing him hard with desperation. 

Jim stumbles again, but this time he’s caught. Silver doesn’t look away from where he’s aiming the gun in his right hand but his left moves to Jim’s bicep and lifts him, drawing the boy against his body. Jim sobs, in relief and hurt both, as he collapses against Silver’s frame. The grip on his arm switches to around his back and shoulders, supporting him without exacerbating his injuries. 

The sound of Scroop picking himself up reminds Jim that he’s not safe yet, no matter how Silver’s grip around him might feel. Reluctantly, he turns his head to face the threat with Silver, somewhat reassured by the presence of the gun in his other hand. 

Scroop looks venomous, when Jim faces him. He’s glaring at the two of them, seething anger etched across his face, making his already gaunt features deathly. 

The look on his face only darkens, when he focuses solely on Jim. The pure hatred in his eyes is terrifying. He looks like he wants to gut Jim, to not just kill the boy but torture him, like he’s imagining that very thing right now as he digs around in his coat with a sadistic grin slowly growing.

The gun isn’t unexpected, when he pulls it out. Instantly Silver’s aim switches to hone in on Scroop and he pushes Jim back cautiously.

“Why shouldn’t I just shoot you both and end it, then?” Scroop asks, over the click of the safety coming off his weapon. 

The other armed men follow suit, as does Silver, but none of them fire just yet. Jim feels the way Silver tenses, and the left arm moves from curled around behind him to in front, urging the boy behind his body even more as he speaks. They’re outnumbered and outgunned. Silver could maybe get two men before they fired, but even that would be a generous estimate.

“Those sirens don’t know where we are. Any one of us shoots they’ll come runnin’.” Silver responds, sounding calm even though Jim can feel the tension coiled in his grip. 

Everything falls silent again. Jim’s heart is thundering. He’s having to lean into Silver to stay standing, and the air fogging with each of his heaving breaths dampening where his face is almost buried in the older man’s sleeve.

“You’ve got the money, jus’ go.” Silver says, sounding so reasonable even when his voice is strained with fear.

For a second, Jim thinks Scroop might actually do it. He looks to the mouth of the alley, then at the second car. He hesitates long enough that his underlings actually turn towards him, waiting for the consensus from their leader and casting glances towards the sirens every so often. 

The gun goes back into Scroop’s jacket, but while Jim sags into Silver with relief, the older man keeps his guard up. He’s still paying close attention to Scroop, and when the knife comes out he’s the first to react. 

Jim is already shielded mostly by Silver’s body, but he’s pushed further behind him anyway, with only a glimpse of the blade as it’s being reeled back in preparation for a throw. 

Jim shouts a wordless, panicked warning, but it’s unnecessary. A heartbeat later Silver has already fired, and Scroop collapses to the ground with a gulp of shock. The gunshot echoes through the night, no doubt drawing the attention of the circling police, and Scroop’s allies begin to panic. 

By the time they’re mobilizing Silver is already moving, pulling Jim around the front of the car and bracing him against the door just as shots begin to fill the air. Jim can’t see what’s going on. His head is swimming again, body listing heavily into the car at his back and supported by Silver where he’s covering the boy’s front, shielding him.

Jim clutches Silver’s shirt in his numb hands, shaking as he hears more yelling and the sound of a car starting. The tires spin and shriek, gravel churned up as they peel out quickly, and though Jim waits he doesn’t hear anymore gunshots.

He’s panting, as the parking lot falls silent again. The adrenaline and blood rush makes everything fall away, and when Jim returns from his near blacking out he’s on the ground, leaning against the tire with Silver kneeling in front of him, supporting his head. 

“...you’re okay, you’re a’right, lad. Look at me, Jim.” Silver is murmuring, when Jim tunes back into reality, and through gulping pulls of air he meets the older man’s eyes. 

Silver looks terrified and relieved all at once. Both hands are cupping Jim’s face, holding his head up and stroking over his skin, like Silver is reassuring himself that Jim is still alive. 

Wrapping his fingers around Silver’s wrist hurts, but Jim needs to ground himself so he grits his teeth through the pain and holds on tight. Silver notices the second he winces, and he pulls the flesh hand back to grasp Jim’s uninjured palm tight while his right hand stays cool and present on the boy’s cheek.

Both their breathing is labored, Jim notices. Belated panic, maybe, or held back cries of relief. It doesn’t matter, ultimately. As the quiet is steadily replaced by the wail of approaching sirens Silver brings Jim’s cuffed hands to his mouth, breathing warm and deliberate over the flesh, pressing kisses to the hand that isn’t bruised and stiff with pain. 

“Silver…” Jim says, in a voice way more stable than he feels.

“I know, lad.” Silver answers, leaning forward and nuzzling into Jim’s hairline with an inhale that sounds like he’s swallowing back tears.

The crunch of tires on gravel signals the arrival of the first vehicle. The nearest siren had cut out a moment ago, and as Silver stands Jim releases him, watching the man’s reaction warily. 

The blatant relief in his eyes means it isn’t the men returning to finish the job, and the sound of car doors slamming alerts Jim that help has arrived.

When he staggers upright - with help from Silver as soon as the man notices he’s struggling - Jim sees the dark grey boxy car that Amelia has had for years. Stepping out of the driver and passenger side respectively are Amelia, looking ruffled but still put together, and Jim’s mother, who looks downright haggard.

As soon as both women spot him they move forwards. Amelia moves at a brisk walk, but Sarah outright runs, screaming “Jim!” and veering around the front of the truck towards him at a breakneck pace.

Silver steps back as soon as the woman comes around, and Jim doesn’t have a moment for his balance to waver before his mother’s arms are wrapped around him, circling his shoulders and clutching the back of his neck protectively. Jim hisses as she crashes into him, pain renewed, and Sarah pulls away slightly with a gasp, seemingly just noticing the state of her son. 

“Jim, honey, are you- what happened-” She’s stuttering, unable to complete a thought. Everything in Jim’s head is still moving sluggishly and he can’t work out how to explain everything to her, so he just leans into the hug as best he can with his hands still cuffed.

His chin rests on her shoulder, and she takes his exhausted silence in stride. Sarah hugs her boy, more gently this time but with one hand still stroking the back of his head as she rocks him in her arms. 

The force of them crashing together turned Jim, slightly. Just enough that he can look to the side and see the rest of the parking lot. He spots Silver stepping back from the reunion, and further away Amelia examining where Scroop’s body is laying, knife still held loosely in his now bloody, lifeless fingers. 

With more sirens closing in and safety now assured, Jim closes his eyes and lets himself relax.

* * *

The hospital waiting room is relatively empty. Considering that it’s two AM on a Wednesday, that doesn’t seem abnormal to Jim. 

It still takes almost an hour for a doctor to see him, since his injuries aren’t life threatening and there are other patients, but Jim is perfectly fine to wait once he’s been brought into a hospital room and given some painkillers. 

His mother stays with him, refusing to leave her son’s side. She’d been the one to drive him here. They’d forgone the ambulance and taken Amelia’s car, since she had to stay put in wait for the police anyway. Silver had stayed as well, and while Jim harbors some unease about leaving the man alone with Amelia, there isn’t exactly much he can do. 

Thankfully, Amelia was able to dig through Scroop’s clothes and find the key to the cuffs, so Jim’s hands are free again. He still has a harsh red line digging into his swollen wrist when he’s finally being given medical attention, but it’s far from the most pressing injury. 

All told, it’s not as bad as it could have been. The doctors discover that Jim’s wrist is, indeed, sprained, but it isn’t broken and should heal without needing any surgery. His right shoulder is nearly dislocated, along with a few bruised ribs and a mild concussion, but some pain meds and Jim is feeling better than he has in hours. Thankfully the nurses mistook the hickeys and bites littering Jim’s skin as just more fallout from the crash, and nobody had given the marks a second glance.

Sarah spends most of the time he’s being treated sitting in the chair stationed next to his bed. She looks rough, in the white hospital lights. There are lines of stress under her eyes and her hair is in a loose ponytail, with flyaways framing her face. She’s holding Jim’s coat over her lap, her fingers tight in the leather as she watches him like a guard dog. 

The steady stream of doctors and nurses has slowed, now that Jim has been triaged and treated. With the stress abating and the drugs kicking in he’s starting to have trouble staying awake. The lights in his room have been dimmed, the room mostly illuminated by the streetlamps outside and the faint light coming under the door.

Sarah leaves Jim’s coat on the arm of the chair as she stands. She walks over when he picks up his head, brushing away his hair and assuring him that she’s going to get a coffee, but she’ll be right back.

Jim nods at her, sleepy but alert enough. The clock on the wall across from his bed states that it’s almost four by now, and he doesn’t think she’s slept anymore than he has tonight. 

The door is silent as she exits, right up until it clicks closed, taking the hall light with it. Jim listens to his mother’s footsteps recede down the hall, loud in the complete silence of everything else. His fingers drift to the IV in his arm, where it’s itching very faintly, before he catches himself and moves away instead.

The sound of her voice filters through to him, as well as another, lower register. Jim opens his eyes, perking up slightly as the soft conversation continues. 

He can’t pick out any details, but the talking soon fades away and footsteps return, now approaching his room. The uneven cadence gives Jim just enough time to guess the identity of his visitor before the door opens and admits Silver into the dim light. 

Jim sits up with a jolt, gasping and fully prepared to launch himself out of the bed at the man. Silver appears to anticipate this, and he’s holding up a hand to stall the boy as he closes the door and approaches. 

“Take it easy, Jimbo.” 

Jim settles back with an exhausted, gusty sigh. He’s smiling, as Silver walks to the foot of the bed, but the man doesn’t come any closer even when Jim holds out a hand towards him. 

Silence settles between them. Jim lets his hand drop to the blankets, too tired to hold it out. His smile fades as well, nervous as Silver just stares at him with a regretful look.

“The doctor said nothing’s broken.” Jim volunteers, fidgeting with the ace bandage around his wrist until a twinge of pain reminds him not to move it too much. 

Silver sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. 

“They’re keepin’ ye overnight, huh?” 

Jim shrugs, then winces as his shoulder objects.

“Yeah. It’s nothing serious, but they wanted to monitor the concussion.” He explains.

Silver is still looking at Jim with pain in his eyes. Jim kneads at the blanket with his free hand, in lieu of picking at his fingernails. Silver hasn’t moved from the end of the bed. Jim had hoped that he would walk over and hug the boy, wrap Jim in his arms again and let him feel safe, like he did when he pulled him out of the reach of Scroop and his men. 

“Silver…” Jim starts, worried.

He stops when the older man rubs at his eyes again. He sounds frustrated and exasperated, when he sighs, and that stops Jim’s half formed plea from taking shape.

“I shouldn’t’ve gotten ye involved, Jimbo.” 

Jim’s mouth opens and he stares, surprised. 

“You didn’t  _ get _ me involved in anything.” He argues, sitting up. Silver doesn’t want to take that and he gestures at Jim with a tight, upset expression, though his voice stays gentle.

“If I hadn’t brought ye out over the weekend they wouldn’t’ve given ye a second glance.” 

Jim gapes at him, at the leap of logic. Yeah, it was Silver’s associates who did this, but he had exactly as much warning as Jim did. Silver feels guilty, Jim gets that, but he refuses to let the man shoulder any of the blame for this.

“No.” Jim says, simply. 

Silver sighs, looking like he’s preparing for a fight. 

“Jimbo-” 

“No, they were already following us before the weekend.” Jim snaps. “They knew the road I took to  _ school _ , Silver. That’s not something that happens by accident.” 

Silver opens his mouth again, but Jim cuts him off.

“I could have walked away any time after school started up, and I kind of  _ did _ . You weren’t holding me hostage. I was there willingly.” Jim says, leaning forward. Silver tracks the movement and looks like he wants to object, but Jim talks over him again.

“It wouldn’t have mattered if we spent the weekend together. They already knew we were close, Silver.”

Jim looks down, lowering his voice as he adds; “They thought I knew where the money was.” 

The older man sighs again, looking away. Jim twists his hand in the blanket, frustrated that he’s not getting through to him. 

“I saw one of them, the night before.” He admits. Silver’s eyes snap to him, but Jim can’t meet his gaze.

“I don’t know who it was, but after I left the boat he was in the parking lot. I was gonna tell you, after school but-” 

Of course Silver guesses where Jim’s thoughts are headed, the blame he’s placing on himself.

“Ye couldn’t have known, lad.” He says, gently reassuring, and Jim bites his tongue to keep from begging Silver to hold him. 

“Neither could you.” He says back, with a baleful, sad look. 

Both of them lapse into quiet, at that. Neither knows what to say, and Jim’s fist keeps clenching and releasing in the blankets. He can see Silver’s organic hand doing the same on the rail at the foot of the bed, and he wishes again that the man were close enough to reach out and touch.

“How much did you tell Amelia?” Jim finally asks.

Silver exhales again. 

“Didn’t have to tell her much, in the end.” He says, rubbing at his shoulder. “She’d already figured somethin’ was off ‘bout my story, walked in jus’ after Scroop called.” 

“What was off?” Jim asks, worried. Silver huffs a laugh, sounding like he’s begrudgingly impressed.

“Had the boat’s paperwork forged, an’ she figured it out. Came lookin’ fer you, actually. Wanted to make sure ye were safe, ended up findin’ me in a near panic.” 

Silver shifts his weight and looks at Jim, and for a second it looks like he’s going to finally move towards the boy, but he continues without moving from his post.

“Told her you’d been taken, that a bunch of not so savory characters had done it. Far as she’s concerned they thought I’d stolen some money from the late man in charge, an’ that you were the best route to get it back.”

Jim lets out a breath. 

“So she doesn’t know about...” He gestures between the two of them, awkwardly.

Silver shakes his head. 

“Didn’t see the point in tellin’ her.” 

Jim drops back with another sigh. Relief, that at least he doesn’t have to worry about that.

“Are you in any trouble?” He asks, still. There’s no way Amelia would let it go if she knew even a fraction of the full story, but from the sounds of things Silver spun it pretty heavily in his favour.

“Nothin’ to be in trouble for, far as anyone knows.” The older man confirms.

Jim relaxes fully back into the pillows, rubbing his arms against the draft coming in from the window to his left. Silver notices, his eyes sweeping over Jim’s frame. His left hand lifts from the rail only to come down again immediately, gripping hard enough that his knuckles turn white.

Jim watches, seeing the turmoil playing out in the muscles of the older man’s hand. 

He lifts his hand again, extending it plaintively towards Silver.

“Will you come over here where I can reach you?” He asks, when the older man doesn’t move.

“You’re hurt, Jim.” Silver points out, and he sounds so unlike himself, in that moment. He sounds tired, and like he’s exasperated at having to state such an obvious fact.

Jim’s hand retracts, by just a few inches, at what feels like a brush off. He hesitates, taken aback at the reply, before his stubborn streak rears its head and he thrusts his hand out again, firmer.

“I know. I want you to hold me.” 

Silver winces, shutting his eyes and looking away. He closes in on himself, a dog tucking its tail.

“Not so sure that’s a good idea, lad.” He rasps, after a long moment. 

Jim sits up again, dismayed and angry. It’s obvious why Silver won’t come near him, and for once Jim isn’t concerned for his own insecurities. The guilt rolling off of Silver is palpable, he feels responsible for everything that’s gone down tonight, even though he had no control over it.

“Do you really think you’re going to hurt me?” Jim snaps. “I’m not that fucking fragile, Silver.”

His attention returns to Jim, and Silver looks… not angry, but upset. His expression is hard and unhappy and Jim wants all the more badly to be wrapped in his embrace right now. 

“I’ve already hurt ye. I’m responsible for this, I’m the one what put ye here.” 

“No, you aren’t!” Jim argues back at him. 

“I’m the reason they hurt ye, Jim! If it weren’t for me-”

“If it weren’t for you I’d probably be in fucking prison by now!” 

Jim hadn’t even noticed his voice rising. The sound echoes in the room, but when he glances at the door nobody comes running in to see what the shouting is about. 

Silver looks surprised, when Jim returns his gaze to the older man’s face. Jim notices the hot tears gathering in his eyes then, and he wants to be frustrated with himself for it but he’s too exhausted to really care. His voice remains clear at least, as his breath hitches and the tears spill over.

“ _ They _ hurt me, okay? Not you.” He sniffs, wiping at his face. 

Silver’s hands lift from the rail, and this time they stay off. Jim almost doesn’t believe it as the man comes around the side of the bed towards the chair. The gentle, apologetic look on his face is too much for Jim to handle, and he looks away, still talking.

“I don’t know what would have happened if I’d kept going the way I was. Most of the people in town would have handed me over to the police without a second thought, that night, but you didn’t.” Jim looks at Silver, sees another twinge of guilt. “Maybe you were just trying to keep your head down, but you still helped me out. You didn’t have to mentor me, but you did.”

Jim’s hand is cold, and Silver’s palm feels unbearably warm in contrast where it cups his knuckles. He’s full on sobbing now, just barely keeping his breaths under control because he needs to get this out. He can’t look at Silver, staring down into his lap where their hands are resting and letting the tears fall as he spills his guts to the dark hospital room.

“This year has been better than anything I can remember since Leland left, Silver. I don’t know what I’ll do without you, so please don’t- don’t leave me…” 

The gentle presence at his side comes closer, and Jim leans in until his head makes contact with Silver’s chest. He’s standing next to the bed, close enough for the boy to reach but still not close enough.

“Silver-” Jim whimpers, grabbing a handful of his shirt and trying to curl up towards him. Silver’s hands come to rest at the back of Jim’s neck and his hip respectively, but they’re too light and held back, clearly hesitant.

“What’dya need, Jim?” Silver murmurs, already nuzzling into Jim’s hair.

His voice cracks on a sob, and he curls closer.

“Just… fucking  _ hold  _ me,  _ please _ .” He whispers, almost inaudible. 

Silver settles on the bed next to Jim, turning on his side and pulling the smaller body along. He wraps his arms around the boy as tightly as he can without exacerbating his injuries, and Jim squirms until he’s tucked into a compact ball within Silver’s protective embrace. The left hand moves over the small of the younger man’s back in soothing motions, the right hand placed at the base of Jim’s skull and kneading there, all the while Silver keeps murmuring soft assurances into the crown of Jim’s head.

The soreness of his injuries and the tug of the IV in his arm means it’s not entirely comfortable, but Jim doesn’t care. He whines and shuffles closer until Silver tightens his grip, and it’s only then that his shuddering exhales begin to slow and calm. 

“It’s okay, Jimbo, s’alright. M’here.” Silver talks over the hitching sniffles, nuzzling and kissing Jim’s forehead until the younger man's cries turn to relieved, thankful gasps.

By the time Sarah returns Jim has fallen asleep and Silver is standing against the wall, leaving her none the wiser. All she notices is that for the first time that night Jim is resting, and that he looks calmer now than he did before she left.


	10. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim might have been the one in the hospital, but he’s not the only person who needs help recovering.

The first time Jim asks to go on a weekend trip with Silver his mother shoots him down, citing his still mending wrist and the January cold. He’d asked mostly as a formality, given the non-issue it was the last time, so the denial surprises Jim.

He doesn’t ask again for a while, even though he’s dying to be alone with Silver for more than a few hours at a time. The newly imposed curfew means he has to be home by dark, and in the dead of winter that severely limits the time he gets to spend with the man. Much as he wants to push the issue, he’s worried about his mother finding his insistence suspicious. 

So Jim leaves it be for a month, and the next time he poses the question much more delicately, framing it as him helping Silver with ship maintenance while he does some routine checks that just happen to require them being out in deep water. 

She tells him no again, this time telling him that his grades are slipping as it is, and if he gets them in check then maybe he’ll get a little bit of slack. 

His grades  _ aren’t  _ slipping. After it got out that Jim had been taken hostage by international criminals, none of the other students cared to take potshots and the teachers dug into a well of previously unseen pity. Combining that with his new work ethic, his grades are suddenly better than they’ve been for several years. 

Suspicion creeps in that Sarah is making excuses to keep her son at home, and that makes Jim nervous. He wonders if she could have found them out somehow. She seems tight and stressed lately, the lines around her eyes deepening whenever she looks at him, but she hasn’t been barring Jim from visiting the docks entirely, only staying out past dark. Surely if she had an inkling of what was actually going on she’d have said something?

The fear alone is enough to make Jim drop the subject for a good long while. It crosses his mind as the time passes, but it isn’t until winter has melted steadily into spring and graduation is looming large in his future that he musters up the courage to ask again.

The inn has been getting busier, as it usually does this time of year. The boats at the docks have been coming and going, though to Jim’s endless relief Silver and the officially renamed  _ Legacy _ have stayed put. 

Finding a quiet moment to talk to his mother is hard, and Jim knows it’s only going to get harder. So when the inn finally empties out one night he takes his chance, foregoing his chores and lingering in the door that separates the kitchen from the main room. 

Sarah is washing the last round of dishes, facing away from Jim. The world outside the window is dark, but the interior of the room is warm and comfortable. 

Jim leans against the doorjamb, unsure if he even wants to say anything. She hasn’t noticed him yet, and if he wanted to put the conversation off, he could. 

“Silver offered to take me out for the weekend.” He blurts. 

Sarah stops, bracing her hands on the side of the sink basin. Already her shoulders are tight, and Jim can see the impending ‘no’ before she even turns around, and he trips over himself to try and head off her objections.

“I’ve got my grades back up, and he’s just going to pick up some parts, and he said if I wanted to come along then I could, and I thought maybe now that I’m all healed…” 

Sarah is still for a moment, long enough that Jim gets his hopes up.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be taking weekends off when you’re this close to finals.” She says, but even she doesn’t sound convinced.

“I still have a month of school left.” Jim says, trying to keep the crushing disappointment from creeping into his voice. 

“Jim…” Sarah sighs, turning to face him with an exasperated look, and Jim’s sulking frustration continues to spill out.

“It’s just a weekend. It’s not like I’m going out partying or something, I don’t see why this is a big deal.” He crosses his arms, sullen in the face of her flimsy excuses.

Sarah finally pulls her hands out of the soapy water and turns to Jim. The look on her face is familiar even if he hasn’t seen it properly for a few months. She has that expression like he’s being unreasonable, like she’s praying for patience or strength or  _ something _ to change his mind.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, but my answer is no.”

The anger he’s been so good at tamping down on lately finally rears its head, and before Jim can think better of it the words are already out and hanging in the air between them.

“Why? You were fine with it before, what’s the difference now?” His tone is angry, voice just slightly raised. He’s not yelling, but the change in intention in his voice is notable, and gets Sarah’s attention. 

“Jim, please-” She sighs. Jim can see the exhaustion on her face. Something is eating away at her, and it’s affecting him now too.

“What changed?” He presses, unfolding his arms but not moving from his confrontational place at the door. 

“You didn’t come home, that’s what changed.” Sarah replies sharply, before her eyes go wide and she looks away, covering her mouth. 

When he was taken hostage, Jim had kind of assumed his mother had been terrified, but they never talked about it. Not in detail, not beyond the basic ‘I was worried sick’. 

Sarah is crying, as she turns back to her son. The watery blue of her eyes and and the wild brown of her hair is so much like looking in the mirror that it hurts to look at, but Jim doesn’t turn away.

“When Amelia called me, told me what had happened, I-” Her hand covers her mouth again, and she’s obviously fighting back sobs. Jim feels a stab of guilt, for having forced this conversation, but he doesn’t try to stop her. 

“Jim, I almost  _ lost  _ you, and I didn’t even know until who knows how long after when Amelia went looking for you and-” She cuts herself off with a sob, closing her eyes and trying to get herself under control.

Jim thinks back to all the times before when he’d missed her calls, or accidentally gone radio silent. He wonders if she was just as panicked this time or the hundred-something times before had desensitized her to his disappearances. He wonders which would have been worse.

“Mom, I-” Jim starts. The tears in his mother’s eyes are making him feel endlessly guilty for asking in the first place. “I’m okay, though, mom. I’m safe.” He tries to assure her.

Sarah exhales, with a weak laugh.

“I know you are, Jim. But every time you walk out that door I’m scared that I’m gonna get another call from Amelia, and that this time I won’t get you back.”

She’s fully crying now, arms around herself like she’s holding back from hugging Jim tightly. 

Jim understands. The first few times a car had passed him when he was riding his bike just about stopped his heart, and he had to pull over to the side of the road to calm down, sure he was about to relive the kidnapping over again. That rusty fucking sedan still lingers in the corners of his mind, and every time he sees a model like it he’s yanked back to the moments before he was taken. The nightmares still wake him up sometimes, and it isn’t until he texts Silver and the man talks him down that he can sleep again. 

She wants him safe, he gets that. But what Sarah doesn’t get is that the inn isn’t where Jim feels the safest, or the happiest.

“I’m with Silver, mom. That’s kind of the safest place in the world.” Jim pleads, trying to make her understand. Instead of being comforted Sarah looks upset, and even more scared than before.

“Jim, those men weren’t even there for you!” 

Jim is stunned by her vehemence, and he finally thinks he understands why she’s so upset.

“Is that why you won’t let me see him?” 

The hurt comes out in his voice, and Jim swallows to try and rein it in, but from the look of things his mother hasn’t even noticed. She turns away from him, squeezing her eyes closed.

“I- You got hurt because of him. I can’t just ignore that.” 

The steel in her voice isn’t totally unexpected, but it still floors Jim. His own anger is bubbling up, and he finally can’t stop it from boiling over.

“Silver tried to protect me! He saved me from them! Doesn’t that count for anything?!” 

“Saving you doesn’t make it any less his responsibility. You were only there in the first place because of him.” 

“He didn’t  _ ask  _ them to kidnap me, mom! He was just as scared as I was.” It’s still burned into his memory, the look when he’d been stuck watching Jim struggle in Scroop’s grip, hurt and dazed and unable to defend himself. Jim tries not to think about the bone deep terror on Silver’s face.

“I put your safety in his hands and you got hurt. You can’t ask me to trust him after that.” 

“I’m not!” Jim snaps, and that finally stops her. 

They both go quiet, staring at one another in the dim light of the kitchen. Some people might look at Jim and see only Leland, but everyone forgets that it isn’t his father he gets his pig-headed iron will from.

Still, Jim inherited plenty of charm from the bastard, and so it’s Leland’s soft puppy eyes he leans on here.

“I’m not asking you to trust him. I’m asking you to trust  _ me _ .” 

Sarah’s face falls. She looks tired, and like she wants to fight Jim on this but like she doesn’t have the strength.

“Jim-” She starts, before he interrupts her.

“I’m eighteen, mom. I’m gonna be graduating in a month. I’ve gotta start making my own decisions sometime.” His voice is soft but still invites no argument. He sounds like Amelia, and in the private of his own mind he thinks she would be proud of that.

Sarah doesn’t say anything, and Jim can’t stop himself from continuing. 

“You don’t have to like it, and you don’t have to trust Silver, and I’m not asking you to. I just need you to respect it.” 

The tears are back in Sarah’s eyes. She sighs, looking away, but the tiny smile on her mouth gives Jim hope that maybe he’s not about to be grounded until he moves out.

“You really are a grown up now, huh?” 

It sounds self deprecating, like she forgot that Jim is an adult. She shakes her head, and when she looks at Jim it isn’t angry or scared anymore. 

Her first steps towards him are hesitant, but Jim helps her close the distance, and soon they’re meeting in the middle for a crushing hug.

A gusty, painful sounding sigh rattles through his mother’s chest, one that Jim feels in his own. Her arms tighten around him, squeezing the breath from him for a second before she releases and pulls back to look at his face. 

“Okay. I still want you to be in a good place before graduation, but I’ll make you a deal. If you can get into that mechanics course you were talking about, then I’d be okay with you going away for a weekend or two before finals.”

She doesn’t look resigned or like she’s stalling. It’s a compromise, yes, but this time the terms are fair and justified. Jim has no problem taking this deal.

Instead of answering Jim hugs her again, mumbling a relieved “Thanks, mom,” into her shoulder. 

Sarah hugs her grown boy back.

* * *

The sun feels good where it’s beating down on Jim’s face. The spray from the ocean is cooling him off just enough that he’s not sweating, and he’s definitely going to have a tan when he gets back to the inn tomorrow. 

Silver is belowdecks, leaving Jim to lounge in just his swim shorts. He’s basking in the sun and in the freedom of being at sea. 

Although he hears the sound of Silver climbing up to the deck, Jim doesn’t open his eyes until a shadow passes over him. He cracks an eye and peeks through the overly bright sun.

“Thought ye were supposed to be mindin’ the ship.” Silver says, as he settles down at the rail next to where Jim is laying. He has a bottle in his hand, and he pulls from it with a soft smirk on his lips.

“I am.” Jim sniffs, unable to hide his own smile as he closes his eyes again.

“Mmhn.” Silver hums. When Jim glances at him again he’s sipping from the bottle, sending the boy a knowing look. 

“Hey, you said you’d let me take a weekend off once graduation was over. It’s over, now I’m gonna take my vacation time.” Silver laughs at that, and Jim smiles back.

Jim folds his arms behind his head as he settles back on the deck. 

“Ye didn’t seem to mind bein’ put to work last night.” Silver observes, and Jim knows without even having to look that he’s smirking. 

He picks up his head from the deck. They hadn’t done anything this morning, because they were both up late sailing out to open water, and then making  _ creative  _ use of the shower together. It’s around midday now, and the hint of hunger in Silver’s eyes is sort of telling even if his tone wasn’t. His head is tilted to the side slightly, presumably to get a better view of where Jim is lounging at his feet.

“If that’s the kind of work we’re doing then I guess I’m on board.” Jim rasps, with a flush already flooding his face. 

Jim takes his sweet time standing up. He can feel Silver’s eyes tracking him, the gaze like a physical weight up and down his frame. The metal fingers spread as Jim turns towards him, expectant, and Silver doesn’t look remotely surprised as the boy drops down into his lap. 

Even sun warmed as he is, Silver’s lap is pleasantly hot against the back of Jim’s thighs. The right hand settles around his hip, dragging him an inch closer, and Jim hums happily as he leans into a kiss. 

They both taste like salt, but Jim feels the sting of alcohol in his throat as he licks greedily into Silver’s mouth. It isn’t particularly strong, but Jim has never had much of a chance to acquire the taste and so any alcohol is powerful to him.

Silver is mouthing at him, properly kissing the boy, and the older man is just distracted enough that when Jim traces his fingers down his organic arm and grabs the neck of the bottle he doesn’t immediately notice.

Jim breaks from the kiss and takes the bottle at the same time, and Silver huffs in laughter but doesn’t stop Jim from swigging from it. 

“Always after somethin’, aren’t ye.” Silver murmurs, his thumb rubbing at the ridge of Jim’s hip over his shorts. His other hand comes down, stroking the top of the younger man’s thigh and riding unashamedly up under the salt stiff fabric.

“Mmhm.” Jim agrees, through another deep gulp. When Silver reaches for the bottle Jim avoids him, smirking devilishly until the flesh hand works further up the inside of his thigh and toys with the head of his dick.

Jim makes a choked, startled sound, and Silver nicks the bottle off him easily only to set it aside and return both hands to the lapful of sun warmed young man before him. With his prize officially stolen and more kisses now being peppered over his neck and shoulders, Jim relents and lists into Silver’s grasp.

He gets a mark sucked onto his neck in reward, and when Jim groans and ruts helplessly against Silver the older man rumbles a laugh at his urgency. 

“Desperate.” He purrs, pulling his hand back to palm instead at the outside of Jim’s shorts, where his erection is now visible. 

“Always desperate for you.” Jim pants, rocking into his hand. 

Silver hums as he massages at the part of the younger man’s legs, coercing his cock to attention all the more rapidly.

“Can ye been a good boy, or do I have to make ye work for it?” 

“I’ll be good.” Jim slurs, eyes already rolling back in his head. “Please daddy, I’ll be so good for you.” 

Silver hums thoughtfully again, as he’s working Jim’s shorts down and rubbing a finger against his ass. 

“Dunno ‘f I should reward ye for that.” He taunts. “You’re still a bit young to be drinkin’, aren’t ye boy?” 

“Then punish me for it later,” Jim whines, petulantly. “Just put your dick in me  _ now _ .” 

Part of Jim worries that Silver might take the words as a command, but all he gets is yet another low chuckle before circling his finger around the tight ring of muscle intently. 

Jim moans, already shaking with anticipation, and fumbles in his pocket for the bottle of lube and the condom he’d stashed there this morning. With how many times they’ve fucked in odd places on the ship, he’s learned that it’s better to be prepared wherever he goes.

Silver laughs at him, and then Jim yanks his hands out of his pockets to hold on as he’s scooped up and carried towards the interior of the ship. The sensation of being lifted and carried is a part of everyday life now, Jim has found, and he  _ loves  _ it every time it happens.

“Taking me somewhere?” He asks, slyly. His legs and arms tighten around Silver, keeping Jim sturdily in place as one hand comes off him to descend the stairs. 

Silver hums again as they reach the galley, and he pauses to nip at Jim’s throat possessively. He won’t leave a mark, not that high up, but the teeth worrying at the younger man’s Adam’s apple is ownership enough on it’s own.

“Gettin’ ye somewhere private. Don’t need anyone sailin’ by to get a show.” 

“Greedy.” Jim accuses with a smirk. 

Silver’s steps have been slow, as he’s lavishing attention on his boy’s neck, so they’re only at the mouth of the hallway when he pauses. 

Jim feels the hands on him flex a heartbeat before he’s dropped onto the lacquered wood of the galley table and pinned there. He gasps in shock and arousal both, nonetheless wearing a wild grin as Silver leans over him and forces Jim onto his back. 

“Oh, you don’t know the  _ half  _ of it.” He purrs, in that tone that promises ruin.

Jim gulps, and his cock twitches where it’s laying against his thigh. He’s more than half hard by now, his body raring to go and the rest of him totally on board as well.

“It’s like you’re trying to keep me all to yourself or something.” He mutters, face burning as Silver wraps both hands around his waist and grinds them together. His thumbs are touching where they’re rubbing circles into Jim’s stomach, and his fingers at the dip of the younger man’s back aren’t more than a couple inches apart. 

“No ‘or something’ about it, Jimbo.” Silver laughs. “Ye’re a damn treasure all by yerself, lad, and I’ll keep ye long as ye let me.” 

The simmering arousal turns, at that. Jim had been readying to wriggle out of his shorts, but at those words he stops.

Silver is partially on top of him, leaning down over Jim where he’s laying on the table. They’re entwined already, but Jim wraps his legs a little tighter around Silver’s middle and slides his arms around the older man’s shoulders to bring him closer.

“Yeah?” He asks through the lump in his throat, hoping for more.

Silver sees right through him, of course. The glint in his eye says as much, but he doesn’t tsk or reprimand the boy. The right hand scrapes over the wood slightly, as it moves to Jim’s cheek and strokes there, under his eye. 

“Prettiest thing I ever laid eyes on, an’ cleverer than anyone I’ve met.” He punctuates the statement with a kiss to Jim’s chin, then continues down his neck to bite at his collarbones, still talking.

“Every bit a’you is better than I deserve, Jimbo. Better’n anyone deserves.” 

The tendons of Jim’s neck tense and flex under the older man’s tongue, and he whimpers as Silver licks the hollows of his throat. A keening whine fills the air when Silver finally moves his attention to Jim’s chest. 

“Silver…” Jim pleads, clawing at him. When Silver moves up again Jim meets him in a ravenous kiss, lips and teeth and tongue all clashing together at once. It’s messy, and not remotely coordinated, but no orchestrated movement could convey the swelling feeling in his heart right at that moment. 

His hips start moving sometime during the kiss, but Jim doesn’t notice until Silver grinds his own erection into the body under him. 

That reminder of what they went down here to do in the first place puts things back on track. Jim fishes around in his pockets and this time manages to retrieve the lube and condom. 

Silver moves a half step back and tears off his shirt, and Jim holds the square foil between his teeth as he disrobes himself. The bedroom is only ten feet away, but neither of them to cares or even appears to notice. Jim just pushes his pants down and kicks them away, parting his legs in anticipation of Silver’s return. He’s mourns the loss of the sun on his skin, but the heat is intense enough in the cabin that he isn’t that bothered, and there will be plenty of opportunities to have lazy sex in the sun some other day. 

He lets the condom drop to the table, now that it’s not in danger of getting lost in the shuffle of clothing. The sound of the lube being opened alerts Jim to what Silver is doing, and he doesn’t hesitate to spread his knees further, eager. 

“God, look at you…” He hears, in that growl that Silver seems to reserve for when he wants to eat Jim alive.

Jim grins, looking up at the man standing over him. He’s just a step too far to be touching the boy; If he were to close that distance the height of the table would leave their cocks almost perfectly aligned together. 

“C’mon already.” Jim says, squirming. 

Silver spurs into action then, a slick finger circling the muscle just once before plunging inside. The depth makes Jim startle and squeak, but he relaxes readily into the now commonplace sensation. He still moans and shudders when the finger inside him crooks, because he will never get used to  _ that _ , but they’re both well practiced at this by now.

“Attaboy, so good. Jus’ relax for me.” Silver still murmurs, as he’s working his second finger inside. 

Jim’s hands clench and relax in time to the fingers moving in and out of him. The wood of the table isn’t soft enough to be gouged by his nails, but the sound of his scratching is apparently a mark of success for Silver.

He goes to a knee, his free hand pushing Jim’s left leg up and keeping his thighs apart. His fingers continue working and twisting Jim open, making the boy mewl and whimper at him, hips bucking into it.

Jim gasps out a disbelieving moan as Silver licks him from the base of his cock to the head. He shivers all over and then shouts as he’s enveloped in wet warmth and a lapping tongue. 

Silver laughs, licking further and making Jim squirm. The younger man's roaming hands find the edges of the table and he holds on tight. The newfound leverage helps him stay tethered to reality, though it’s hard to think beyond how good everything feels.

“ _ God, fuck,  _ Silver…” 

His words trail off into helpless noises, weak cries that Silver pulls out of him so easily it’s embarrassing. 

“Good?” Silver asks, pulling off with a wet sound and a smirk. His fingers press in deeper still, pushing hard against Jim’s prostate and massaging the spot.

“So good.” He whines, voice cracking as Silver thumbs his perineum. His whole body is trembling as he arches his back, and the taut stretch of his muscles makes the second finger working into him feel even bigger.

“That’s right. You love gettin’ teased like this. Lettin’ me open ye up all nice an’ slow.”

Another cry rips from Jim’s throat, at the words. They’ve had a lot of practice at this, in the past few months, and that muscle memory means that almost as soon as the second finger is fully in Silver is pushing for a third and Jim is taking it eagerly.

“Daddy…” Jim pleads, vision going hazy as Silver lazily fucks his fingers in and out.

“God, ye really are desperate for me, aren’t ye lad?” 

Jim nods, biting his lip through a weak  _ “Mm-hmm”  _ and pulling his legs as far apart as he can. He’s flushed all down his chest, the pink highlighting the bites and hickeys littered over his shoulders. 

Silver grins at him and takes the boy into his mouth again, sucking gingerly until Jim’s whimpers turn to full on moans and his hips are twitching with the effort of not moving. It’s only when Jim is close to tears that he pulls off again, with one final lick to the precome dripping from the slit. 

“Think ye’re ready to take more?” He asks, lowly, sliding his fingers in deep and leaving them there. The lack of movement tugs at Jim, and he squirms to try and return pressure to that sweet spot inside of him.

Silver doesn’t let him. The right hand moves from Jim’s thigh to his hip and holds there, keeping him still as he twists his fingers even deeper, as if in punishment.

“ _ Ah, _ yes! Please…” Jim gasps, his abdominal muscles clenching but accomplishing nothing. “Silver please, I’m ready, I can take it.” 

A low chuckle meets his ears, and Jim shivers uncontrollably as Silver cards a hand through his hair still warm from the sun.

“That’s my boy. Always so good fer me, aren’t ye?” As he’s talking his fingers curl slightly, rubbing at the sensitive bundle of nerves too lightly for what he knows Jim likes. It’s intentional, building the well of pleasure so slowly that Jim won’t come from this alone, but just enough to leave the younger man pliant and begging for more.

“ _ Daddy… _ ” Jim cries again, the tears in his eyes finally spilling over. 

His breaths stay deep and calm, as Silver moves up and nuzzles his throat. All the same Jim is ready when the words are murmured into his skin. 

“Color?” 

If Jim weren’t high on the chemical rush of pleasure and arousal, he’d be smiling wide and affectionate. As it is, it’s all he can do to gulp back his moans and speak. 

“Green. Please Silver, I wanna keep going. Wanna come so bad.” He mumbles.

A soft, relieved sigh is exhaled into his neck. The moment of softness ends with a chaste, gentle kiss to his lips, and then Silver is standing back up and smirking that familiar smirk, like he wasn’t just checking to make sure Jim is okay.

“Listen to you begging for it. Can’t wait to have me filling ye up, can ye boy?”

Jim shakes his head, biting his lip. Small, pleading whimpers are still slipping out between his teeth, and his noises hitch hopefully when Silver abruptly pulls his fingers out and reaches for the condom where it’s lying on the table. 

The emptiness is uncomfortable, and even waiting for Silver to slick himself up is agony. Jim writhes in place, tempted to reach down between his legs and shove his own fingers inside, but the last time he did that Silver made him fuck himself instead, and he wants the older man’s cock more than anything right now.

The condom goes on and more lube is applied, and then Silver lines himself up, pulling Jim’s legs up until they’re almost on his shoulders. He whines and squeezes his eyes closed at the position, spread open and at Silver’s mercy, and the knowing look the older man sends him says that he’s well aware that Jim is fighting not to come on the spot.

“S’alright, pup. I’m here.” He rumbles, at the first slow push in. 

Jim relaxes into it, the muscle memory taking over and allowing him to just revel in the smooth shove to the hilt. His throat works, chokes and gasps filtering out, but his eyes are heavy lidded at the impossibly deep penetration. It’s heady, the pleasure, racing through his blood and leaving him drunk on it.

A gutteral moan fills the room, when they’re finally flush together. Silver is quiet except for the now audible strain to his breaths, but Jim is gasping and gulping for air between moans, his fingers returning to clawing at the table.

The first thrust is harsh, a hard out-and-in that earns a jagged yelp from the boy on the table. Silver smirks and does it again, pulling another choked off whine before he slows the movement and fucks Jim more gently.

It’s far from the soft, careful actions of the first time they did this. Jim has found he likes it just that slightest bit rough, and Silver is glad to indulge him. The sound of skin on skin echoes around the small space with panting keens rising and falling in time. 

Jim can’t reach for Silver, like this. His legs aren’t exactly in a position to wrap around the man either, and even if they were he’s so weak in the knees that it’s a moot point. 

“Closer… want you…” He gasps, voice trembling and trailing off with every hit inside him.

Silver honest to god  _ growls _ at that, voice returning on a raspy chuckle as he drops his head down, still fucking Jim dizzyingly hard.

“Need daddy to pin ye down, that it?” 

His hands had both migrated to Jim’s hips at the first slide in, and the thumbs find the place just under the jut of his hip to knead. Jim arches his back, struggling to think. He finally manages to nod, distant and hazy, and Silver sounds smug when he hums in approval.

Jim goes limp and pliant as Silver slams in, gasping in shock. He lets himself be manipulated, legs pushed to the sides and arms pulled up above his head and held there as Silver leans over him. 

His first instinct when his senses return is to struggle, but Silver’s right hand stays firm where it’s got his wrists pinned together. His other hand is braced on the table next to Jim, giving Silver added stability as he closes the gap between them and slips his tongue into the younger man’s mouth. 

Jim moans, his heels digging into Silver’s back and his fingers flexing uselessly above his head. The sound comes out muffled and strangled as Silver licks in, toying with Jim’s tongue and beginning to move again.

He’s stretched out over the table, like this, back arching with a wavering moan as Silver’s unyielding grip keeps him in place. His legs are the only parts of him free to move, and he wraps them around Silver’s back to help move himself in time with the thrusting. 

They’re not even kissing anymore, just panting into each others mouths, biting off groans and sighs as Silver hits the perfect spot every time. 

Jim wants to cry out in protest as Silver slows, but the precise movement inside of him is pleasant enough to keep him on the edge and moaning in overwhelmed ecstasy. 

“Ye love this, don’t ye lad?” Silver purrs, his thumb rubbing at the insides of Jim’s wrists.

Jim nods, dizzy and weak, and Silver kisses his neck as he murmurs more praise.

“So good. Always so sweet when I’ve got ye wrapped around me.” He bites along Jim’s collarbones, marking him up just beneath the line of where his shirt collar would fall. 

The precome leaking from Jim’s dick spills over from the small pool on his stomach and drips to the table. Silver doesn’t notice, but Jim feels the wet heat running down his side and his hips cant up, rubbing his painfully hard cock against the older man clumsily. Silver does take notice then, peering down with a leer and propping himself up just far enough to be out of Jim’s reach.

“Like it that much, do ye?”

Jim nods again, gnawing his lip, and he’s rewarded as Silver looms over him again. He tangles his flesh hand in Jim’s hair and tugs his head to the side, growling into his ear as the boy’s chest heaves under him.

“How’d ye like to feel me come inside then, hm? Stuff ye full an’ leave ye all used up? Bet ye’d love it, cock hungry little thing ye are.”

He rocks his hips for emphasis, and Jim lets out a wanton groan from between his teeth. He  _ would _ like that, a lot, and another time he’s going to be begging for that, but right now he wants something else.

“C-can we…?” Jim stutters, trying and failing to get the words out. He’s shaking all over, tongue twisted and so deep in the headspace that he’s struggling just to ask even though he knows Silver would give him anything.

The mask of unaffected confidence that Silver wears slips, in a way that Jim recognises as intentional. Silver has picked up on his struggle, and he’s toning down the playful demeanor accordingly.

“What is it, lad?” He asks in a soft, affectionate tone that perfectly matches the gentle kiss he drops over Jim’s heart. His left hand rubs over the younger man’s head, soothing the slight sting from having his hair pulled.

Jim is still a panting, whining, wreck, but he finds the words in the now softer quiet.

“I wanna put our cocks together.” 

He’s half expecting Silver to laugh at him, for that. If nothing else than for the plaintive, desperately needy look on his face, but he doesn’t. He smiles at Jim, but it’s kind and soft, and his fingers trail down to cup the boy’s cheek. 

Jim leans his face into the palm, sighing and not even trying to hide how hopelessly overwhelmed with affection he is. 

Silver stands up and pulls out, leaving Jim to squirm as the condom is discarded and more lube squeezed into his hand. Before long he settles himself between the boy’s legs again, giving Jim an amused look when he whimpers and arches his back into it.

Jim leaves his hands over his head, staring up at Silver as he takes them both into his hand and strokes.

Another spine cracking arch of his back, and the urgency of release returns with a slow buzzing tingle in Jim’s belly. He lets his head rest on the table, staring up at the ceiling without seeing a thing. 

Silver strokes them together again, squeezing this time, and the slight pressure combined with feeling Silver directly against him almost ends it right there. Jim has to bite his tongue to keep from coming, gnawing on the flesh and forcing himself to focus on the pain rather than the pleasure.

In his peripheral vision, Jim sees Silver smirking. He’s noticed the boy’s struggle, and he continues with the achingly slow pulls. 

Jim writhes, cracking an eye down at Silver and finding the man watching his face instead of anywhere else. His gaze is fixed on Jim’s expression, with a raw look of adoration that suddenly makes it hard for Jim to breathe.

He reaches for Silver, sitting up just as the right hand wraps around his bicep and drags him up. The left hand stays between them, working steady and sweet while they meet in another deep kiss. 

The occasional twitch of Jim’s thighs gives away how close he is to release, but Silver doesn’t slow or let up. He doesn’t even respond to the pleas of  _ “daddy, please, so close”  _ that keep slipping out between kisses, something that would normally incur at least a little teasing. He just mutters praise from between clenched teeth and wraps his free arm more securely around Jim’s shoulders.

The younger man’s whines devolve into open mouthed gulps for air, and Jim feels Silver grin before he sinks his teeth hard into the boy’s shoulder, surely leaving a perfect bruise of his bite mark. 

Jim yelps in surprise as his orgasm is forced out of him, his body clenching down on nothing while his cock spills into Silver’s hand. The older man keeps pumping, and before Jim even has time to complain about oversensitivity Silver buries his face in the boy’s shoulder and gasps, coming just as hard.

The two of them sit like that for a minute, panting. Jim has gone totally limp, his full upper body supported only by Silver’s arm where it’s holding him in a half embrace. The flesh hand is at the table next to his thigh, gripping the wood as Silver steadies himself.

They’re basically hugging already, and in his sleepy, sated, half aware state, Jim has no issue winding his arms the rest of the way around the older man and snuggling up to him as best they can. 

According to Silver he’s at his most affectionate after sex and in the early mornings. Jim will deny both to his grave, grumbling about how he’s plenty affectionate the rest of the time, but in these private moments he has no issue leaning into it.

The right hand cards through his hair, and Jim smiles into Silver’s shoulder, humming a happy noise at the touch.

“Okay, Jimbo?” He asks. His voice is still rough, but the smile in his words is obvious.

Jim, in his post orgasmic haze, doesn’t even think about the words, just lets them tumble out of his mouth. 

“God, I love you.” 

It comes out in a mumble, but the words are clear as day. Jim realises too late what he’s said , and he freezes.

Silver has gone still too, and the creeping self doubt that Jim has been trying to push down lately returns. Because yeah, he does love Silver. Maybe it’s too soon, but there’s a connection there that Jim has never had with anyone else. He wants to spend every spare minute around the man, and even being apart from him for a night makes Jim miss him. 

Jim can feel his thoughts starting to run wild, but he’s powerless to stop them. What if Silver doesn’t want that? What if he decides he doesn’t want Jim at  _ all  _ after this? It’s only been a couple of months they’ve been together, and since that first weekend on the boat the subject of the future has never come up. 

The rising fear and adrenaline grinds to a sudden and much needed halt, then, as Silver lets out a choked laugh and pulls Jim tighter to him. 

He kisses Jim’s shoulder, right where he bit down, and moves up over the flesh meticulously. He tracks a path over the young man’s neck, jaw, cheek, and finally kisses him hard on the mouth, smiling against Jim’s lips.

Jim’s fighting back a sob and ultimately failing, but Silver doesn’t tease him as he brings his right hand around to thumb away the tears. 

“You really think I haven’t loved ye all this time?” Jim thinks the words were meant to come out as a joke, smoother and more confident, but the hitch in Silver’s voice gives him away. 

The laughter that bubbles out of Jim’s chest is wet and relieved and  _ painful _ , but it feels good. Silver echoes him, rubbing his back and kissing his forehead.

They have to part eventually, even if it’s obvious both would be perfectly happy to spend hours clinging together like that. One final kiss to the forehead signals that Silver is moving away, and Jim watches him step back to put himself back in order. He stays put on the table until he gets his shorts tossed at him, at which point he hops down onto wobbly legs and redresses. 

Jim readily follows Silver onto the sunlit deck, ducking around him and snatching the half full beer from the bench where they left it. 

Silver grabs for him but Jim evades, grinning until he’s caught around the middle. He shouts, giggling like a child as he’s wrangled back into Silver’s lap and the bottle is taken from him. 

“Ye’re a little nightmare.” Silver mutters, into Jim’s ear.

“You love me for it.” He answers back, quick as a whip and grinning uncontrollably. 

Silver’s chest shakes with laughter and Jim leans into him. The arm around his waist is warm and grounding, and loose enough for him to squirm free if he wanted to. He doesn’t want to.

“That I do, Jimbo, that I do.” Silver affirms, laying another kiss at the base of his neck.

Silver seems neither annoyed nor all that surprised when Jim takes the nearly empty bottle and finishes it, and he doesn’t chastise him for it this time. He keeps peppering kisses over Jim’s shoulders, murmuring affection and running his hands all over the younger man just to feel him. 

It’s too warm to be sitting together, like this, but that’s exactly what they spend the afternoon doing. When the sun sets they shower together, and then the two of them go to bed. 

Hours later, Jim lays looking out the window, watching the stars appear and the moon rise in the sky. He feels light and flush with the knowledge that this is what he gets to look forward to every night. 

There’s work that needs to be done, to make this permanent, but he feels safe and loved as he’s falling asleep, and for now that’s enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the official end of the the fic! Of course there's probably going to be some additional oneshots in the future, because I have no self control and you're all enablers, but the main plot is wrapped up!
> 
> Once again I'd like to thank my editor RumpledBook, to whom you owe the first section of this chapter and a great many other awesome details that I overlooked.


End file.
